
Glass PS 353 1 

Book D 31 R > 

112*0/ 



THE FOOL 

By CHANNING POLLOCK 




COME OUT OF THE KITCHEN 

A charming comedy in 3 acts. Adapted by A. E. Thomas 
from the story of the same name by Alice Duer Miller. 
€ males, 5 females. 3 interior scenes. Costumes, modern. 
Plays 2Y2 hours. 

The story of "Come Out of the Kitchen" is written around a 
Virginia family of the old aristocracy, by the name of Dainger- 
fleld, who, finding themselves temporarily embarrassed, decide to 
rent their magnificent home to a rich Yankee. One of the con- 
ditions of the lease by the well-to-do New Englander stipulates 
that a competent staff of white servants should be engaged for 
his sojourn at the stately home. This servant question presents 
practically insurmountable difficulties, and one of the daughters 
of the family conceives the mad-cap idea that she, her sister and 
their two brothers shall act as the domestic staff for the wealthy 
Yankee. Olivia Daingerfield, who is the ringleader in the merry 
scheme, adopts the cognomen of Jane Allen, and elects to preside 
over the destinies of the kitchen. Her sister, Elizabeth, is ap- 
pointed housemaid. Her elder brother, Paul, is the butler, and 
Charley, the youngest of the group, is appointed to the position of 
bootboy. When Burton Crane arrives from the North, accom- 
panied by Mrs. Faulkner, her daughter, and Crane's attorney, 
Tucker, they find the staff of servants to possess so many methods 
of behavior out of the ordinary that amusing complications begin 
to arise immediately. Olivia's oharm and beauty impress Crane 
above everything else, and the merry story continues through a 
maze of delightful incidents until the real identity of the heroine 
is finally disclosed. But not until Crane has professed his love 
for his charming cook, and the play ends with the brightest 
prospects of happiness for these two young people. "Come Out 
of the Kitchen," with Ruth Chatterton in the leading role, made 
a notable success on its production by Henry Miller at the Cohan 
Theatre, New York. It was also a great success at the Strand 
Theatre, London. A most ingenious and entertaining comedy, 
and we strongly recommend it for amateur production. (Royalty, 
twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 

GOING SOME 

Play in 4 acts. By Paul Armstrong and Eex Beach. 
12 males, 4 females. 2 exteriors, 1 interior. Costumes, 
modern and cowboy. Plays a full evening. 

Described by the authors as the "chronicle of a certain lot of 
college men and girls, with a tragic strain of phonograph and 
cowboys." A rollicking good story, fnll of action, atmosphere, 
comedy and drama, redolent of the adventurous spirit of youth. 
(Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 

SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City 
New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free on Requost 



THE FOOL 



A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS 



BY 



CHANNING POLLOCK 

They called me in the public square 
The Fool that wears a crown of thorns." 

— Tennyson. 

Copyright, 1922, by Charming Pollock 

(As acted at the Times Square Theatre, New York, 
and the Apollo Theatre, London.) 



All Rights Reserved 

CAUTION: Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that "THE FOOL,"^ 
being fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States, the 
Eritish Empire, and other countries of the Copyright Union, is subject 
to royalty, and anyone presenting the play without the consent of the 
owner or his authorized agents will be liable to the penalties by law 
provided. The amateur acting rights are reserved for the present in all 
cities and towns where there are stock companies. Royalty will be quoted 
on application for those cities and towns where it may be presented by 
amateurs. Applications for the amateur acting rights must be made to 
Samuel French, 25 West 45th Street, New York. For professional pro' 
duction write to The Century Play Co., 1440 Broadway, New York. 
All unauthorized performances will be prosecuted. 



A6i 



New York: 

SAMUEL FRENCH 

Publisher 

25 West 45th Street 



London : 

SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 

26 Southampton Street 

Strand 



THE FOOL 



All Rights Reserved 



Especial notice should be taken that the possession of 
this book without a valid contract for production first 
having been obtained from the publisher, confers no right 
or license to professionals or amateurs to produce the play 
publicly or in private for gain or charity. 

In its present form this play is dedicated to the reading 
public only, and no performance, representation, produc- 
tion, recitation, public reading or radio broadcasting 
may be given except by special arrangement with Samuel 
French, 25 West 45th Street, New York. 

Amateur royalty quoted on application to Samuel French, 
25 West 45th St., New York. 

Whenever the play is produced by amateurs the follow- 
ing notice must appear on all programs, printing and ad- 
vertising for the play : "Produced by special arrangement 
with Samuel French of New York." 

Attention is called to the penalty provided by law for 
any infringement of the author's rights, as follows. 

"Section 4966: — Any person publicly performing or rep- 
resenting any dramatic or musical composition for which 
copyright has been obtained, without the consent of the 
proprietor of said dramatic or musical composition, or his 
heirs and assigns, shall be liable for damages thereof, 
such damages, in all cases to be assessed at such sum, not 
less than one hundred dollars for the first and fifty dol- 
lars for every subsequent performance, as to the court 
shall appear to be just. If the unlawful performance and 
representation be wilful and for profit, such person or 
persons shall be guilty of a misdemeanor, and upon con- 
viction shall be imprisoned for a period not exceeding one 
year." — U. S. Revised Statutes : Title 60, Chap. 3. 



"The Fool" 



The cast of 'THE FOOL" as originally presented by 

Selwyn & Company, at The Times Square Theatre, 

New York, October 23, 1922 

THE FOOL 

directed by frank reicher 



the persons 
(In the order in which they speak) 

Mrs. Henry Gilliam Maude Truax 

Mrs. Thombury Edith Shayne, 

"Ditty" Gilliam Rea Martin 

Br. Barnaby George Wright 

Mrs. Tice Lillian Kemble, 

"Jerry" Goodkind Lowell Sherman 

Rev. Everett Wadham Arthur Elliot 

Clare Jewett Pamelia Gaythorne 

George F. Goodkind Henry Stephenson 

"Charlie" Benfield Robert Cummings 

Daniel Gilchrist James Kirkwood 

A Poor Man Frank Sylvester 

A Servant George Le Soir 

Max Stedtman Geoffrey Stein 

Joe Hennig Rollo Lloyd 

Umanski -. Fredrik Vogeding 

"Grubby" Arthur Elliott 

Mack Frank Sylvester 

Mary Margaret Sara Sothern 

Pearl Hennig Adrienne Morrison 

Miss Levinson Wanda Laurence 

And a Number of Persons of Minor Importance 



THE PLACES 

Act I: The Church of the Nativity — Christmas 

Eve, 1918. 
Act II : The Goodkinds' Home — November, 1919. 
Act III: "Overcoat Hall"— October, 1920. 
Act IV : Gilchrist's Room — "Upstairs" — Christmas 
Eve, 1920. 
The action takes place in New York City. 



THE FOOL 



Act One 



Scene : The Church of the Nativity, New York. 

The set, representing only the chancel, is as 
deep as possible, so that, even when its foreground 
is brightly illuminated, the detail back of that is 
lost in shadows. Pierced by three fine stained glass 
windows, the rear wall looms above the altar, on 
which the candles are not lighted. In front of 
that is the sanctuary, and in front of that is the 
communion rail, with three steps to the stage. 
Just right of these steps is a very tall and beautiful 
Christmas tree. The tree has been expensively 
trimmed, and has a practical connection for an 
electric-lighted ornament still to be placed at its 
top. Down r., a door to the choir room, and, down 
l., a door to the parish house and the street. These 
doors are exactly alike. 

Down l.c. tzvo folding wooden chairs tlmt have 
been brought in for temporary use. Two similar 
chairs up l.c, another up l., hidden by door when 
it is open. A tall step-ladder l. of the tree, facing 
front. Down R., two wooden boxes almost emptied 
of presents. There is a pile of tissue-wrapped and 
ribboned packages under the tree, and a general 
Utter of gifts, boxes, and crumpled paper every- 
where. The Church of the Nativity is fashionable 
and luxurious; the effect of the set must be that 
of peeping into a building spacious, magnificent, 
and majestic. The Christmas decorations include 
six stringers of evergreen, hanging from the tops 



8 THE FOOL 

of the jogs right and left of the altar rail and con- 
cealing the joints in them. There is a solid back- 
ing of fir trees and poinsettias with red flowers 
behind the altar rail and pots of poinsettias at the 
opening of this rail. A general atmosphere of 
Christmas. A red carpet extends from the altar 
down the steps to the stage. It will be found con- 
venient not to tack this carpet, but to fix it so tliat 
the steps may be struck quickly. Also the distance 
back to the altar may be increased by cutting the 
carpet so that it narrows as it nears the altar, thus 
giving perspective. 

Lighting Equipment: Besides the chandeliers and 
wall-brackets mentioned in scenes following the 
first act, the following equipment — mostly used in 
Act I — stands throughout the play. 

Amber and pink first border. Blue back border 
— to dimly light the cyclorama in Act I, and dimly 
show the altar against the back wall. 

Middle section of foots amber and pink. Right 
section amber for use in opening of Act I. 

Three-lamp strip of amber in foots l. to high- 
light Mary Margaret when she is praying in 
Act III. 

Strong amber spot in the first border left of 
centre to fall on two chairs l.c. in Act I and give 
light for the scene between Gilchrist and Clare. 

This spot must be carded so that none of the 
light escapes to the door l., which must be in dark- 
ness for the entrance of the Poor Man. When 
this spot is in place, mark position of two chairs 
on ground-cloth so they will be in the light. 

1000-watt spot in the first border, extreme right, 
focussed to fall on the ground before the door l., 
where he stood, upon exit of Poor Man. 

Amber baby spot in recess of window l., falling 
on ladder and Christmas tree, as though that light 



ACT ONE 9 

and the light on the chairs, came from the window. 

Amber baby spot, with pin-point, l v hidden be- 
hind jog up l., falls upon the cross on the altar, 
lighting it dimly. This light is on throughout 
Act I. It barely shows when the other lights are 
up, but throws the cross into high relief when 
they are dimmed at end of act. 

Tzvo-lamp amber strips in doorways R. and L. 

Amber spots back of two stained glass windows 
in cyclorama r. and l. of altar. 

Lighting in Act I: At rise; foots half up; first 
border less than half up; back border very dim, 
to just suggest the altar. Spot on cross. Spot on 
chairs and spot on Christmas tree. The idea is to 
high-light these chairs and the ladder for comedy 
at start of act. Except for these two locations, the 
church is dimly lighted — especially the altar, 
which should be suggested rather than visualised. 
The act begins with bright day-light outside, tem- 
pered by the stained glass — about half past three in 
the afternoon, so that the sudden early winter twi- 
light may have set in before its close. 

All through the act the spots back of windows 
are dimming slozvly and quite out by the entrance 
of the Poor Man. On entrance of Claire, and 
cue "I hope I never see another doll," dim every- 
thing except spot on two chairs. Spot on Christmas 
tree dims, but not too much, as we must see Gil- 
christ when he stands there during his conversa- 
tion with the Poor Man. 

On final exit of Claire dim spot on two chairs. 
Not too fast. It need not be out, so long as light 
does not escape to show the Poor Man, but get it 
as dim as possible, WITHOUT JUMPING, be- 
fore his exit. 

Time: Christmas Eve, 1918. 



10 THE FOOL 

At Rise : Discovered : Two women and a girl. 

Mrs. Henry Gilliam, bending over the box 
down r., is fat, forty, rich and self-satisfied. 

Her daughter, Daffodil, commonly called 
"Dilly," perched upon the ladder, is a "flapper." 
As regards her mind, this means that, at tzventy, 
she is voise and witty, cynical and confident, world- 
ly and material beyond her elders. Physically, she 
is pretty and, of course, has not hesitated to help 
out nature wherever she has thought it advisable. 
Considering what has been spent on her education, 
she is surprisingly ignorant and discourteous par- 
ticidarly to her mother, who bores her dreadfully. 

Leila Thornbury is a divorcee; thirty, smart, 
good-looking, and with something feverish in 
her eyes, in her movements. Deliberately at- 
tractive to men, she is disliked, in proportion, by 
women. All three are very expensively dressed. 
Mrs. Thornbury has laid aside on a chair l. of 
ladder, a fur coat on the cost of which twenty 
families might have lived a year. She is up centre, 
concerned with a number of dolls and other toys. 

Note: Mrs. Thornbury's coat is on chair l. and up 
stage of ladder, against rail. Dilly's coat is thrown 
over the altar rail l. of c. There are two chairs up 
against this rail l. Mrs. Gilliam's coat is over the 
back of the chair r. Barnaby puts Mrs. Tice's 
coat on the seat of the same chair. Jerry puts his 
coat and hat on the l. of these two chairs. 

As the Curtain Rises : Mrs. Gilliam is busy at the 
boxes down r. Turning to carry something up to 
the tree, she gets a generous view of Dilly's lower 
limbs. 



ACT ONE 11 

Mrs. Gilliam. (Shocked) Dilly! . . . Dilly, for 
pity's sake, pull down your skirt! (Dilly laughs, but 
does not obey) I don't know why our young women 
want to go around looking like chorus girls! 

Mrs. Thornbury. (c. below altar steps; unwrap- 
ping a bundle) Perhaps they've noticed the kind of men 
that marry chorus girls ! 

Dilly. (Laughing) Salesmanship, Mother, begins 
with a willingness (Mischievously raising her skirt an- 
other inch) to show goods! 

Mrs. Thornbury. Dilly! (Holds up two dolls she 
has unwrapped, and comes down c.) What are we go- 
ing to do with these ? 

Mrs. Gilliam. (Despairingly, surveying the litter) 
Goodness knows ! 

Mrs. Thornbury. (To chairs l.c.) I've two en- 
gagements before dinner, and I've got to go home and 
undress for the opera. 

Dilly. / gave up a dance for this. 

Mrs. Gilliam. A dance at this hour? 

Dilly. People dance at any hour, Mother. 

Mrs. Gilliam. What do they do it for? 

(She throws packages at foot of tree, and goes down to 
boxes. All through this scene, Mrs. Gilliam 
moves up and dozvn from the boxes below the door 
right to the Christmas tree. She is busily taking 
packages from these boxes and putting them at tlie 
foot of the tree. Dilly is equally occupied zvith 
the decorations on the tree, and Mrs. Thornbury 
is tying tags on her dolls. All three women must 
be kept busy. They are not merely sitting still to 
deliver lines.) 

Dilly. For something to do. (To Mrs. Thorn- 
bury) We're young and we got to have life and gaiety; 
haven't we, Mrs. Thornbury? 



12 THE FOOL 

Mrs. Thornbury. (Between chairs) We've got to 
have something. I don't know what it is, but I know we 
have to keep going to get it. 

Mrs. Gilliam. But you all waste your time so dread- 
fully. I'm busy, too, but my life is given to the service 
of others. 

Dilly. (Looks at Mrs. Thornbury) Ha — ha! 
What could be sweeter ? 

Mrs. Gilliam. (Up to tree) Dilly! Nobody knows 
better than you that I've never had a selfish thought. 
Mr. Gilliam 

Dilly. (Looks at Mrs. Thornbury) Of the Gil- 
liam Groceries, Incorporated. 

Mrs. Gilliam. Mr. Gilliam says I'm far too good. 

Mrs. Thornbury. We agree with him, Mrs. Gil- 
liam. 

Mrs. Gilliam. Only yesterday I gave five hundred 
pounds of coffee and sugar to the Salvation Army ! 
(Down to boxes.) 

Dilly. And today Father jumped the price of sugar 
to thirty-two cents! (Comes down from the ladder.) 

Mrs. Thornbury. Now — Dilly ! 

(Dilly sits in the chair l., facing r. Places comedy doll 
— a ballet dancer in a short skirt — on chair r. where 
it can be played with later by Jerry. Busies herself 
with the other doll.) 

Mrs. Gilliam. (With rising motion) One gets 
precious little reward — I can tell you! I sent helpful 
thoughts from the Bible to all Mr. Gilliam's employees ! 
Now they're on strike, and the man that got "Be con- 
tent with your wages" is leading the strikers ! — Where's 
the Star of Bethlehem? (To conceal her agitation, she 
has turned to the box.) 

Dilly. (Pointing) There, but it doesn't work, 
Mother. 



ACT ONE 13 

Mrs. Thornbury. Are those your husband's men — 
on the front steps ? 

Mrs. Gilliam. Oh, no! These are people from the 
sweat shops! They're starving, I hear, and Mr. Gil- 
liam says it serves 'em right! (Bringing star out of 
box r.) What's the matter with the Star of Bethlehem? 

Dilly. Oh, the usual ! Whoever heard of the lights 
working on a Christmas tree ? 

Mrs. Gilliam. (Holding up the star) But this must 
work. Mrs. Tice had it made to order — of Parisian 
diamonds. It cost a hundred dollars. 

Dilly. (Reaching for the star) All right! It's bet- 
ter than nothing! (She takes it, and ascends the lad- 
der.) 

Mrs. Thornbury. (Rises. She has seated both dolls 
on the chairs.) There! I'm half dead, and there can't 
be any more presents ! (Starts up for her coat) I'd 
give my left hand for a cigarette. 

(Dilly hangs star on tree and looks at Mrs. Thorn- 
bury: who winks at her.) 

Mrs. Gilliam. Not here! 

Mrs. Thornbury. Why not? We've had almost 
everything else. 

Dilly. Mother's so Mid- Victorian ! And ministers 
are finding they've got to do something to make church- 
going attractive. I've heard of preachers who go in for 
dances and movies, and they draw crowds, too. Natur- 
ally! Who wouldn't go to Church to get a squint at 
Douglas Fairbanks? (She has hung the star) I'm 
through ! 

Mrs. Gilliam. Then come down. 

Dilly. Believe me, I'm glad to get off this thing! 
(Descends.) 

(Mr. Barnaey, package-laden, enters l. He is the sex- 



14 THE FOOL 

ton and of the age, manner, and appearance pe- 
culiar to sextons. He carries eleven vanity cases 
bought by Mrs. Tice.) 

Mrs. Thornbury. (Turns and is appalled at his 
burden) Oh, Mr. Barnaby! What have you got? 

Mr. Barnaby. (Up to the altar steps to deposit 
them) Some more presents. 

Mrs. Gilliam. Good gracious ! 

Mr. Barnaby. (Deposits his bundles on the steps 
r.c.) Mrs. Tice brought them. She and Mr. Jerry 
Goodkind. (Mrs. Gilliam nudges Dilly) They're 
just coming in. 

Mrs. Gilliam. (Sotto voce) Dilly, powder your 
nose! (Dilly obeys. Crosses up l.c.) Mr. Barnaby, 
our star won't light. Will you see if you can fix it? 

(Mr. Barnaby's mind is on Mrs. Tice. She is much 
too rich to open a door. He is edging l.) 

Mrs. Thornbury. And Mr. Barnaby, will you let us 
have some seals 

( Voices off l. ) 

Mr. Barnaby. One moment! (Crosses to between 
chairs l.c.) 

(Enter Mrs. Tice followed by Jerry Goodkind. Mrs. 
Tice has just entered middle-age, and refuses to 
shut the door behind her. Her wealth, which lias 
given her an air of great authority, has made it 
possible for her to look a smartly-dressed young 
matron. The truth is that she is clinging to youth 
in an ever-lessening hope of "keeping" her hus- 
band. Beneath the "air of authority" is something 
cowed, and worried, and unhappy. Just so, beneath 



ACT ONE 15 

the smiling, careless surface of Jerry lies iron. He 
can be very ugly when he wishes, and he is always 
sufficiently determined to get what he wants though 
he gets it generally by showing the urbane surface. 
Jerry zvould describe himself as a "kidder" . He 
is 35; sleek, well-groomed, and perfectly satisfied 
with himself. His most engaging point is a per- 
petual smile.) 

Omnes. (As Mrs. Tice enters) Oh, hello, Mrs. 
Tice! Good afternoon, Mrs. Tice! How do you do! 

(Mrs. Tice pays no attention to these greetings, but 
angrily goes to Barnaby.) 

Mrs. Tice. Who are those people on the church 
steps ? A lot of dirty foreigners blocking the sidewalk ! 

Mr. Barnaby. It's the grating, Mrs. Tice. The fur- 
nace room's underneath, and they're trying to get warm. 
t Mrs. Tice. Well, let 'em try somewhere' else ! (After 
Mr. Barnaby removes her coat and places it on chair 
up l., she crosss to Mrs. Gilliam r.c, shaking hands) 
I don't mean to be unkind, but there must be missions 
or something ! 

(Mr. Barnaby removes his coat, hangs it on cross 
piece of ladder; then climbs to attend to the star 
and connects the plug.) 

Mrs. Thornbury. We didn't hope to see you here, 
Mr. Goodkind. 

Jerry. (Down l.) I met Mrs. Tice on the most 
dangerous corner in New York. 

Mrs. Thornbury. Where? 

Jerry. In front of Tiffany's. (Goes up and lays hat, 
coat and stick on chair l.c.) 



16 THE FOOL 

Mrs. Tice. Yes, and I lured him here by mentioning 
that Clare Jewett was helping us. 

Dilly. (Runs down stage left, puts one knee on the 
left of the two chairs l.c. and looks straight up into the 
face of Jerry) Somebody page Mr. Gilchrist! 

(Mrs. Gilliam crosses upstage to Dilly. Mrs. Tice 
crosses downstage to Mrs. Thornbury at r.) 

Mrs. Gilliam. (Taking hold of Dilly) Dilly! 
(To Jerry) Isn't Dilly looking wonderful ? So young 
and — and 

Jerry. (Up l.) And fresh. 

Dilly. Oh, boy! 

Mrs. Tice. Do come and see what I've got for the 
girls of the Bible Class! 

(All the women rush to Mrs. Tice at r.c. front. They 
group themselves around her. Mrs. Thornbury is 
on her r. Mrs. Gilliam on her l. Dilly injects 
herself between her mother and Mrs. Tice.) 

Mrs. Thornbury. Testaments ? 

Mrs. Tice. (c.) That's just it: I haven't! I want 
to give them something they can really use ! And it's so 
hard to think of presents for those girls; they've got 
everything! (Opening a small parcel she has withheld 
from Mr. Barnaby) Guess how I've solved the prob- 
lem! 

Mrs. Thornbury. I can't ! (Speaks simultaneously 
with Mrs. Gilliam and Dilly.) 

Mrs. Gilliam. I haven't an idea! 

Dilly. (Beside her mother) I'm dying to know ! 

Mrs. Tice. (Impressively, displaying the gift) Ster- 
ling silver vanity cases ! 

Dilly. (Takes it, crosses up l. and shows it to 
Jerry who stands above chairs l.c.) How ducky! 



ACT ONE \7 

Mrs. Gilliam. Charming! 

Mrs. Thornbury. (Goes up for coat) Quite an 
inspiration ! 

Mrs. Tice. (Turning up r. to Mrs. Thornbury) 
You know, Bibles are so bromidic. 

(Barnaby descends from the ladder.) 

Mrs. Thornbury. (Gathering up her coat, and 
crossing to Jerry below chair l.c.) Yes, aren't they? 

Mrs. Gilliam. (With the air of one bereft) — Oh, 
Mrs. Thornbury! 

Mrs. Thornbury. (Goes toward Jerry: down stage 
of chairs l.c.) I ; ve done my "one kind deed" today, 
and I've an engagement for dinner. (As she reaches 
the chairs l. c, Jerry comes down between them, and 
takes her coat.) 

Jerry. Permit me. (Puts coat over her shoulders. 
Mrs. Thornbury, sinking into it, leans up against him. 
Jerry starts to put his hand on her shoulder. Mrs. 
Thornbury is looking up flirtatiously into his face. At 
this moment, Mrs. Tice r.c, facing l., sees what is go- 
on, and says "Tst!" to attract the attention of Mrs. 
Gilliam : who turns to look. Mrs. Thornbury and 
Jerry both see that they arc observed. Jerry's embrac- 
ing hand immediately camouflages by slipping down the 
arm of the coat, as though feeling the fur) Some coat! 

Mrs. Thornbury. (Archly) Yes — thanks. — See 
you all tomorrow at the Christmas Service! Goodbye, 
everybody! (Crosses to door l.) And Mr. Goodkind ! 
You'll find Miss Jewett wrapping things in the choir 
room! 

(Everybody laughs. Exit Mrs. Thornbury l. Jerry 
drops down l.) 



IS THE FOOL 

Mr. Barnaby. I'll just try those lights. (Exit l. 
putting on coat.) 

Mrs. Gilliam. She has an engagement for dinner, 
but you notice she didn't say with whom! (Crosses 
Mrs. Tice; to down r.) I don't think they ought to al- 
low divorced women in the church! (To boxes again) 
Where does she get all her money? 

Mrs. Tice. (l. of tree) Her husband settled for 
thirty-six thousand a year ! 

Jerry. (With growing amusement) Think of get- 
ting thirty-six thousand a year out of munitions ! Gee, 
what a lot of lives that coat must have cost ! ! 

(Everybody laughs. Enter Dr. Wadham. He is not the 
stage clergyman. On the contrary, he is a very 
pleasant and plausible person — plausible because 
he believes implicit y in himself. He has passed 
sixty, and has a really kind heart. But he has had 
no experience tvith life, and he has never been un- 
comfortable. He comes to l.c.) 

Dilly. (Surprised) Here's Dr. Wadham! 

Mrs. Gilliam. (Crosses and shakes hands) Why, 
Doctor ! 

Mrs. Tice. (Down r.) We didn't know you were 
back. 

Jerry. (Down l. of Doctor) I didn't know you'd 
been away. (Dr. Wadham, whose back was to Jerry, 
turns to him quickly) How are you, Doctor? 

Dr. Wadham. (Shakes hands) Ten days; attend- 
ing a Conference on the Proper Use of Eucharistic 
Candles. It's a subject on which I feel rather strongly. 
(Turns r.) It's pleasant to see you, Mrs. Tice. And 
Miss Daffodil. (Shakes hands with Daffodil who has 
come between Mother and Doctor.) 

Mrs. Gilliam. Isn't Dilly looking wonderful? 

Dr. Wadham. Quite wonderful! (Looking at the 



ACT ONE 19 

tree) And what a beautiful tree! The star lights up, I 
suppose. 

Dilly. Well, we have hopes! (Goes up c.) 

(Jerry takes doll from chair r. and l.c. and plays with 
it, sitting in chair l. Dilly comes down to above 
chairs, flirting with him. A little later, she takes 
doll from him and puts it on altar steps, remaining 
up stage.) 

Mrs. Gilliam. (About c.) It's made of real im- 
itation diamonds. A gift from Mrs. Tice. 

Mrs. Tice (Joining Dr. Wadham l.c.) Speaking 
of gifts, Doctor 

Dr. Wadham. Yes, dear lady. 

Mrs. Tice. My husband wanted me to have a little 
talk with you about his check. (She pauses for en- 
couragement, finding what she has been told to say a 
trifle difficult.) You know he promised five thousand 
dollars to beautify the parlor of the Parish House. 

(When Mrs. Tice crossed to Dr. Wadham at c, Mrs. 
Gilliam went back to her boxes r., and now re- 
sumes business of carrying packages from them to 
the tree. However, she is listening to the conver- 
sation between Mrs. Tice and Dr. Wadham. 
Mrs. Tice's hesitation continues only to the line 
"Well, frankly, Dr.," when she becomes very stem 
and speaks zvith great authority. In the beginning 
of this act, there should be three distinct stages of 
menace to Gilchrist, each somewhat higher than 
the one preceding it. This conversation between 
Mrs. Tice and Dr. Wadham is the first step. 
The second — bringing still more sense of danger — 
is the conversation betzveen Goodkind and Dr. 
Wadham. The third and greatest comes with the 
entrance of Benfield. These three in succession 
lead up to the climax of Gilchrist's dismissal 



20 THE FOOL 

from the Church of the Nativity, and they must be 
directed as steps to that climax.) 

Dr. Wadham. (Foreseeing trouble) Oh, yes. 

Mrs. Tice. And since then — well, frankly, Doctor, 
John was very much upset about last Sunday's sermon. 
Mr. Gilchrist preached from the text about the rich man 
entering the Kingdom of Heaven. 

Dr. Wadham. Always a trifle dangerous. 

Mrs. Tice. Yes, and last Sunday it seemed as if 
he were directing all his remarks at John. We're in the 
first pew, you know, and John says he doesn't like to 
complain, but there's getting to be altogether too much 
of this — Bolshevism. 

Dr. Wadham. Mr. Gilchrist is young. 

Jerry. (In chair l.) Mr. Gilchrist is a nut! 

Mrs. Tice. Do you know what he said, Doctor? 
He said all this — "decking the church" — was making 
an accomplice of God. He said we couldn't take credit 
to ourselves for returning a small portion of our ill- 
gotten gains! 

Mrs. Gilliam, (r.) Small portion! When I've 
just given away five hundred pounds of coffee! 

Mrs. Tice. He said Charity wasn't giving away 
what you didn't want! 

Mrs. Gilliam. (Up to tree with present) It was 
good coffee, too ! Our second best coffee ! 

Mrs. Tice. Of course, what John objected to was 
the reference to rents. John says he doesn't come here 
to be told how to run his business ! 

Mrs. Gilliam. (Coming down to boxes) Quite 
right ! And I don't pay this church seven thousand 
dollars a year to hear my husband's coffee roasted ! 
(They all laugh — the more because of the previous 
tension. Mrs. Gilliam, surprised at first, sees the 
point and joins in the laughter. Dilly, laughing, runs 
to foot of ladder and sits on bottom step.) Well, you 
understand what I mean! 



ACT ONE 21 

Dr. Wadham. We understand, Mrs. Gilliam. 

Mrs. Gilliam. Personally, I'm very fond of Mr. 
Gilchrist. His father had stock in our stores. But I 
don't think he's a good influence. This used to be a 
really exclusive t church. Now, whenever Mr. Gilchrist 
preaches, there's such a crush of undesirable people 
you can hardly get to your pew. We don't have that 
trouble with Dr. Wadham ! 

(Wadham, c, pleased, starts to bow to Mrs. Gilliam, 
when he suddenly "gets" the significance of her 
speech, and abruptly turns front, blinking his eye- 
lids rapidly. ) 

(Clare Jewett enters r., her arms full of parcels. 
Clare is 28., smartly dressed, though in a fashion 
that suggests thought rather than expenditure, and 
pretty, in spite of a certain hardness. The next 
sentence arrests her, and she stands in the door- 
way; not eavesdropping, but not interrupting.) 

Mrs. Tice. Mr. Gilchrist was such a promising 
young man! 

Mrs. Gilliam. {At foot of ladder and slightly r.) 
So rich, and happy! 

Dilly. {Sitting on ladder, tantalizing Jerry) And 
in love ! 

Dr. Wadham. {Still c. but slightly up) He's still 
rich, and in love, and, I think, he's still happy. 

Jerry. I've told you ; he's a nut ! 

Mrs. Gilliam. I wonder if that's it. Don't laugh! 
He wasn't like this before he went overseas as chaplain. 
Is it possible he was gassed — or someting ? 

{During this speech, Dilly has caught sight of Clare, 
standing behind. Mrs. Gilliam, and has been try- 
ing to attract her mother s attention. At the end 
of the speech, she whispers loudly "Mother," and 



22 THE FOOL 

as Clare takes a step downstage and forwards, 
Mrs. Gilliam turns and sees her. She ejaculates 
"Oh!" tries to laugh, the laugh ends in embarrass- 
ment, and she goes upstage, in a position to drop 
down c. on her next speech. Dilly follozvs her, 
but continues up to ~l., zvhere she leans against the 
rail, busily engaged in using her lip-stick and 
pozvder-puff. Jerry rises from his chair l.c.) 

Clare. Here's another armful of presents. 

Dr. Wadham. Oh, how do you do, Miss Jewett? 

Clare. I'm very well, thank you. 

(Mrs. Tice and Dr. Wadham go up c, just a step to 
clear, when Jerry speaks.) 

Jerry. (Crosses toward her) Hello, Clare! This is 
a 

Mrs. Gilliam. (Intercepting him c.) Surprise! 
Ha! And you've been waiting for her the last half 
hour! (Goes up for her cloak on chair up l.c. Dilly 
behind chairs l.c.) 

Clare, (r.c.) I'm afraid we'll have to get Mr. 
Barnaby. There are so many packages. 

(Jerry crosses to l. side of ladder.) 

Dr. Wadham. Can't I help? 

Clare. Will you, Doctor? (Dr. Wadham crosses 
to her r. below tree) And Mr. Hinkle's in there pray- 
ing for someone to consult about the Christmas music. 

"Dr. Wadham. I told Mr. Hinkle the choir'd better 
begin by singing, "Peace, Perfect Peace, With the 
Loved Ones Far Away." 

(Dilly kneeling on chair l.c. laughs. They laugh at 
her. Scandalised, Mrs. Gilliam hushes her. Dr. 
Wadham, annoyed, crosses Clare to exit r.) 



ACT ONE 23 

Mrs. Tice. (Coming down) And Doctor! About 
the Parish House — shall I tell my husband you'll speak 
to Mr. Gilchrist? 

Dr. Wadham. Yes, I think you may even tell him 
I've an appointment with both wardens on that subject, 
here today. (He exits r.) 

Mrs. Gilliam (To l.) Dilly, do hurry ! 

Mrs. Tice. (c.) Can't I drive you home? 

Mrs. Gilliam. Thank you so much! Goodbye, 
Miss Jewett. Goodbye, Mr. Goodkind. We must ar- 
range for you to come up to dinner as soon as the holi- 
days are over. 

(Dilly crosses Mrs. Gilliam to door. Enter Mr. 
Barnaby. He bows.) 

Dilly, say "goodbye" to Mr. Goodkind! 

Dilly. Goodbye! (Waving her hand impudently, 
exit. ) 

Mrs. Gilliam. Oh, Mr. Barnaby, how about the 
lights ? 

Mr. Barnaby. I think the trouble's outside. 

Mrs. Gilliam. You'll be sure to fix it? 

(Mr. Barnaby nods. Exit Mrs. Gilliam.) 

Mrs. Tice. (Crosses to door) And will you put us 
in the car? (Barnaby helps Mrs. Tice on with fur 
coat) I rather dread that mob at the door. Goodbye, 
Mr. Goodkind — and Miss Jewett, and, if I don't see 
you tomorrow, a Merry, Merry Christmas ! 

(At her convenience, during this speech, Mrs. Tice 
presents Barnaby with a five dollar bill. From 
that moment, Barnaby never ceases nodding his 
gratitude. At the end of the speech, Mrs. Tice 
exits, bowed out by Barnaby.) 



24 THE FOOL 

Clare. Thank you. 

Jerry. (Warmly) Merry Christmas. (As the door 
closes, he repeats with dry disgust at having been de- 
tained all this time) Merry Christmas! (Clare is 
dozvn r. kneeling with the five packages.she has brought 
in, placing them at the foot of the tree. Jerry lounges 
over to her, l. of ladder, and drapes himself on the 
bottom step. He looks at her mockingly, and waits for 
her to speak. There is a short pause. There should be 
a distinct change in the chemistry of the action when 
nezv people come into a scene. The tone of the follow- 
ing scene is entirely different from that of those pre- 
ceding it. Jerry is bantering. Clare is deeply hurt, 
but too good a sport to show it. She conceals her an- 
noyance from him until two or three speeches at the 
end of the scene, when her indignation gets the 'better 
of her. These speeches are marked with a double x., 
should be spoken firmly to get the laugh that follows 
Jerry's light rejoinder.) 

Clare. (Kneels r. of tree) It's funny to find you 
in church. 

Jerry. (Stands l. of tree) Why? My father's 
senior warden. 

Clare. (Laughs and takes up a parcel from under 
tree) Whatever else you inherit, Jerry, it's not likely 
to be religion ! 

Jerry. Religion doesn't trouble the old man much 
— except Sundays. I came here to see you. 

Clare. Why ? 

Jerry. You've been avoiding me. 

Clare. Nonsense! Come and help me with these 
parcels. 

Jerry. I want to talk to you. 

Clare. That's just it, Jerry. You always want to 
talk to me, and always to say something I don't want 
to hear. 

Jerry. Why not ? 



ACT ONE 25 

Clare. {Simply, but not very surely) I'm in love 
with someone else! 

Jerry. You're what? 

Clare. (Rises, looking defiantly into the mocking 
face quite close to hers and, this time, with conviction) 
I'm in love with someone else! 

Jerry. You're in love with Clare Jewett ! 

Clare. You're very rude. I'm engaged to Mr. Gil- 
christ, and he loves me, and believes in me, and your 
sense of decency and fair play 

Jerry. Inherited from my father? 

Clare. — should keep you from proposing to a 
woman who's going to marry 

Jerry. (Raises hand) You're not going to marry 
Mr. Gilchrist. What's the use bluffing? We've known 
each other since childhood. You know I'm not going 
to give up anything I want because it belongs to some- 
body else. (SJie crosses to altar rail for doll) And 
I know you're not going to give up what you want — 
comfort and luxury — for a crazy man who wears his 
collar hind-side before ! 

Clare. (Up c.) Jerry! 

Jerry. Now that's admitted, let's go on. 

Clare. (Brings doll to chair l.c.) Mr. Gilchrist 
isn't exactly poverty-stricken! (Sits on chair r. Chair 
faces l. She faces audience.) 

Jerry. (Dozvn to r. of her and a step above her) 
No ; he got quite a lot of money from his father. You 
like him and when you said "y es >" you thought you 
were getting somebody you liked, and all the rest of 
it, too. But something's gone wrong with Gilchrist, 
and you know it! 

Clare. (Fastens tag on doll) Why do you say that ? 

Jerry. Because, if you didn't before, you heard this 
afternoon. (Clare looks at Jerry) Oh, I saw you 
standing in the door. And I'm going to tell you a few 
things more ! 



26 THE FOOL 

Clare. I don't want to listen ! 

Jerry. Maybe — but you will! Do you know that 
your young trouble-hunter has given away nearly one- 
tenth of his capital in three months? 

Clare. {Looks at him) No, and I don't believe it ! 

Jerry. All right ; ask my father ! The old man has 
his money in trust! Gilchrist won't touch his income 
from Gilliam Groceries, because they're profiteering, 
and he's preaching such anarchy that both wardens are 
coming this afternoon to complain to Dr. Wadham! 
I don't want you to throw yourself away on a raving 
bug! 

Clare. And your advice is (xx) 

Jerry. Marry me. I'm a nice fellow, too — and I 
can give you what you really care about. You're over 
your ears in debt, without any chance of paying up — 
or cutting down. I know what it cost you when your 
father died, and you had to come down a peg. You 
don't want to keep on — coming down, do you? 

Clare. And so — you advise me to marry you ? (xx) 

Jerry. Yes. 

Clare. (Looking at him squarely and significantly) 
Knowing all I do know about you? (xx) 

Jerry. I don't see how that concerns you. 

Clare. It proves you don't love me. 

Jerry. I want you, and I'm offering marriage to 
get you. 

Clare. You haven't said one word of love. 

Jerry. I've said: "What's the use bluffing?" 
I'm no movie hero — and no crazy dreamer. I'm a 
little shop-worn, perhaps — maybe, a little soiled — but 
I'm sane, and I'm solvent. And you — you're good- 
looking, and smart, and a lady. You'll help my stand- 
ing and I'll help your credit. For the rest — we needn't 
bother each other too much. (Goes to her) What do 
you say? (He puts out his arm to touch Clare. She 
rises forbiddingly and looks him straight in the eye.) 



ACT ONE 27 

Clare. I say it's revoltingly sordid ! (She holds an 
instant, and then goes between the chairs upstage to r. 
of opening in front of altar. Puts her doll down on 
the steps. ) 

Jerry. (Chagrined for an instant, recovers him- 
self) All right ! (Looks at zurist watch) You think 
it's revoltingly sordid at 3 :45 on Christmas Eve. (Goes 
upstage and, during the following, is putting on his 
overcoat.) Well, keep your ears and your mind open, 
and see how you feel in the morning. My telephone's 
Rhinelander — six nine four two — and this is the last 
time I shall ask you! (Starts down between chairs to 
door l.) 

Clare. (Turning) Wait! (He stops and turns to 
her) Whatever you believe of me, I love Mr. Gilchrist ! 

Jerry. (Near door) Rhinelander six nine four two. 

Clare. And, what's more, I'm going to marry him! 

Jerry. (Near door) Rhinelander six nine four two. 

Clare, (c.) Jerry, I think you're the most detest- 
able person I've ever known in my life ! 

Jerry. (Laughs. At door, which he has opened) 
Rhinelander six — nine — four — two ! (Shuts door. 
Exit l., leaving Clare humiliated and beaten. She 
stands still a moment, looking after Jerry, and some- 
thing like a sob escapes her. Dr. Wadham re-enters r.) 

Dr. Wadham. Why — Miss Jewett! 

Clare. I'm nervous ! — I want to finish up and go 
home! (Exit r.) 

(Dr. Wadham, puzzled, closes the door after her. 
Jerry's father, George Goodkind, enters l. He 
is about the Doctor's age — sixty — but he has had 
vast experience in life, and he enjoys comfort now 
because he has been very uncomfortable. Good- 
kind is much like any other successful business 
man you might meet — and like — at dinner. He is 
brisk and economical of time, but pleasant, and, 



28 THE FOOL 

unless his interests are involved, extremely ami- 
able. He does what he conceives to be his duty by 
his family, his community, and his God, and feels 
that all three should appreciate it.) 

Dr. Wadham. Ah — Mr. Goodkind! (Glances at 
his watch) You're early! (Crosses to l.c.) 

Goodkind. How do you do, Doctor? Walked out 
of a meeting. I don't like letting religion interfere 
with business, but I wanted to get here before Benfield. 
It's about young Gilchrist. 

Dr. Wadham. (Starts) Shall we go into my study ? 

Goodkind. Benfield's coming here. (Dr. Wadham 
indicates chair) No — no — I've only a few minutes. 
Did you know Gilchrist proposes to preach a Christmas 
sermon about the strike? 

Dr. Wadham. What strike? 

Goodkind. This garment strike. He announced his 
subject from the pulpit, and Benfield's furious. 

Dr. Wadham. Mr. Benfield isn't interested in 
clothing. 

Goodkind. No, but he's invested heavily in my 
West Virginia coal mines, and down there we're on the 
verge of the biggest walk-out in our history. You see 
what I mean? 

Dr. Wadham. Yes. 

Goodkind. The labor problem's none of the Church's 
business. Or any outsider's business. It's a worrisome 
subject, and there's no good stirring it up. That's what 
you want to tell Gilchrist ! 

Dr. Wadham. I. have told him — frequently. 

Goodkind. And what's the answer? 

Dr. Wadham. He says every problem ought to be 
the Church's business, and that, until the Church be- 
comes a power in live issues, it isn't a power in life! 

Goodkind. He won't listen to reason ? 

Dr. Wadham. No. 



ACT ONE 29 

Goodkind. Then he'll have to listen to something 
else. If he persists about this Christmas sermon 

(Barnaby — enters l. Dr. Wadham indicates they are 
not alone. Goodkind turns. Impatiently) 

What is it, Barnaby? 

Barnaby. There's a man out there wants to see Mr. 
Gilchrist. 

Goodkind. What kind of a man? 

Barnaby. (Indifferently) A poor man. I think 
he's a Jew. 

Goodkind. Who ever heard of a poor Jew? (Crosses 
in front of Wadham to ladder and looks at tree.) 

Dr. Wadham. Mr. Gilchrist isn't here. 

Barnaby. I told him that, but he won't go away. 
I wanted to ask, had I better send for the police ? 

Dr. Wadham. No, I wouldn't do that! 

Barnaby. Why don't he go to a Synagogue instead 
of hanging around a Christian Church? Mr. Gilchrist 
gave this fellow his overcoat. I suppose he's come back 
for the gloves ! 

Dr. Wadham. Tell him I'll speak to Mr. Gilchrist. 

(Mr. Barnaby shakes his head despairingly. Exit.) 

Goodkind. (Down r. of Dr. Wadham) Well, there 
you are, and what I wanted to talk about privately is — 
what's got into the boy ? Has he gone crazy ? 

Dr. Wadham. I've asked myself that. I've asked 
myself if what he saw in France 

Goodkind. Exactly. A lot of young fellows go off 
the handle and start out to reform the world, but this 
lad has run through twenty thousand dollars in less than 
three months ! 

Dr. Wadham. In addition to his salary? 

Goodkind. Yes. I could understand if he'd spent 
the money on himself. But he hasn't! He's given it 
away! (Dr. Wadham shakes his head) Gilchrist's 



30 THE FOOL 

father, as you know, was my first partner, and I got 
the boy in here, and I feel responsible for him. Of 
course, as trustee, I can refuse to turn over another 
penny of his principal, and, as senior warden, I can 
demand his resignation from this Church. But I 
want him to have every chance. Now, you tell him, 
tell him if he'll get a grip on himself, and reconsider 
tomorrow's sermon 

(Enter Benfield l.) 

Here's Benfield! (Goes a few steps r.) 

("Charlie" Benfield is fifty, and a "rough diamond." 
He is self-made, and proud of it, though nothing 
of education or refinement, or knowledge and ap- 
preciation of fine things has gone into his making. 
He is arrogant, domineering , used to having his 
own way, and to sweeping aside obstacles.) 

Benfield. Hello, George ! How d'ye, Doctor ! Am 
Hate? 

Dr. Wadham. (Benfield's very presence makes 
him nervous) We've been waiting for you. Hadn't 
we better retire to my study if we're going to discuss 
Mr. Gilchrist? 

Benfield. (Throws hat on chair) We're not! 
We've been discussing long enough ! All I got to say 
now is : Gilchrist leaves this church or I do ! 

Goodkind. (Toward c.) Now wait a minute! 

Dr. Wadham. Isn't that a little mandatory? 

Benfield. I don't know what it is, but it goes ! I've 
worked hard all my life, and now this fellow gets up, 
and tells me what I've worked for is nothing, and that 
I'm nothing, and all my ideas is wrong! (Up bet-ween 
chairs. ) 

Dr. Wadham. (Up on a line) He didn't say that. 

Benfield. (Turning) Oh, yes, he did — last Sunday 



ACT ONE 31 

and every Sunday! I've got two million dollars tied 
up in Black River mines, and I'm not paying to have 
the socialist papers down there print that my own min- 
ister is in favor of strikes ! 

Goodkind. (Down. Crosses to r. of Wadham) 
Wait a minute, Charlie! That's not the tone to take 
to Dr. Wadham! We all feel that Gilchrist has gone 
too far, and we've agreed 

Benfield. (Down) Does he preach tomorrow? 

Goodkind. We've agreed that if he insists on 
preaching about the strike 

Benfield. He goes? 

Goodkind. He goes ! 

(Daniel enters l. He quietly goes up and puts fiat 
on chair above door l.) 

Benfield. All right, and if he don't insist ? 

Goodkind. He stays. 

Benfield. And I go! (He picks up his hat, stiU 
facing r.) You can decide which of us is the most 
valu'ble to your church ! Because I tell you again — and 
straight — this church ain't big enough for Gilchrist 
and me ! 

Daniel. (Smiling. Comes down l. behind Ben- 
field) A church that isn't big enough for two little 
men, Mr. Benfield, must be somewhat crowded for 
God! 

(Benfield does not turn, or move, during Gilchrist's 
speech, but stares straight ahead of him furiously. 
At the end of it, he turns violently, and strides to 
Gilchrist, as though to make a rejoinder. How- 
ever, he can think of nothing good enough to say 
so he jams his hat on his head, gives a great grunt, 
crosses Gilchrist, and exit l.) 

(Gilchrist is 33. He was a football hero at college, 



32 THE FOOL 

and shows it. He was a gentleman before he went 
to college, and he has been one ever since, and he 
shows that, too. What he does not show is what 
one expects in a "reformer" — narrowness, hard- 
ness, something forbidding. An ascetic, beyond 
doubt, self-denial has only made him trim and fit. 
The goodness that shines in his face is partly good 
humor. He has honest eyes, with fire in them, and 
there is strength and seal back of that — strength 
and zeal that will leave their mark later. As yet, 
his exultation is chiefly in his smile. His great gift 
is charm — and sympathy. At this moment, he 
wears no overcoat, and is glozving from the cold. 
His clerical hat he laid on chair up l. when he re- 
turned. Still smiling, he looks after Benfield.) 

Dr. Wadham. (c. Embarrassed) Mr. Benfield is 
a little — ah — a little 

Daniel. (Definitely) Yes; a little. (Comes down, 
chaffing his wrists.) 

Dr. Wadham. '(Agreeing) Yes, a little. (Goes 
up c.) 

Goodkind. (Crosses to Daniel from up r. They 
are below chairs l.c.) Pneumonia weather, Daniel! 
Where's your overcoat? 

Daniel. Outside. 

Goodkind. Oh, yes. There's a man out there, too, 
who says he won't go 'way until he sees you. Dan, 
you're an awful decent fellow, but I still think you made 
a mistake going into the church. If you ever want to 
talk it over with me, I'd be glad to help you — any time ! 
You know that ! 

Daniel. Thank you. 

Goodkind. Goodbye, Doctor! (Crosses in front of 
Daniel) Goodbye, Dan, and a Merry Christmas! 
(Exit l.) 

Daniel. The same to you (Daniel opens 

door for Goodkind and closes it after him.) 




~ 



U 



ACT ONE 33 

Dr. Wadham. {Up r.c.) Daniel, you're in trouble. 
{Comes down on line with Daniel.) 
Daniel. {Smiling) Doctor, I'm used to it. 

{There is comedy in this speech if Wadham uses a 
peculiar tone in saying "Daniel" and Gilchrist 
exactly imitates that tone in saying "Doctor") 

Dr. Wadham. {Back of chair r.) This time it's 
serious. I've warned you often. I don't see how you 
can have been so blind. 

Daniel. {Over to l. of him and below chairs) I 
haven't been blind. 

Dr. Wadham. Then you don't care for your po- 
sition in this church. 

ORGAN PP 

Daniel. {With feeling) There's only one thing I 
care for more. 

Dr. Wadham. And that is? 

Daniel. To be worthy of it. 

Dr. Wadham. {Coming down and sitting in chair 
r. He faces front. The chairs face each other.) When 
you're as old as I am, Daniel, you'll understand that 
being honest doesn't necessarily mean being disagree- 
able. 

Daniel. {Crosses front to R. of chairs) Doesn't it 
mean — telling the truth? 

Dr. Wadham. {Looking after him) Do you know 
the truth, Daniel? 

(Daniel turns and takes a step to Wadham.) 

Daniel. Yes — don't you? Doesn't every man — 
(Doctor looks up at him) in his heart? And if we 
want to keep it in our hearts, and never think about 
it or look it in the face, shouldn't someone pry open 



34 THE FOOL 

the door and cry: "Behold!" — I didn't tell them any- 
thing they didn't know, Doctor. I don't know anything 
they don't know. I just reminded them 

Dr. Wadham. (Exploding on the last zuord) That 
we were heathen ! 

Daniel. That we were Christians, and every man 
our brother, and that we were sitting, overdressed and 
overfed, in a Christian Church, while our brother froze 
and starved — outside — in a Christian world ! 

STOP ORGAN 

Dr. Wadham. That isn't fair! These good people 
have given 

Daniel. Given — what cost them nothing ! (Survey- 
ing tree) Frumpery and trumper)* - and diamond stars! 
That's how all of us give — what we don't need ! What 
we don't even want — You're a good man, Doctor, and, 
honestly, what would you say if your wife told you 
she'd sold her rings and given the money to the poor ? 

Dr. Wadham. Why, I — I 

Daniel. You'd say she was crazy! 

Dr. Wadham. But there's no necessity 

Daniel. Oh, yes, there is ! There'll be people lying 
in the parks tonight. What would Mrs. Tice say if 
I invited them to sleep in her pew? 

Dr. Wadham. That there's no reason why she 
should share their dirt and disease ! 

Daniel. Exactly! We may believe in the brother- 
hood of man, but we know about germs! We're not 
sure what is truth, but there's one thing we are sure of, 
and mean to be sure of, and that's our own comfort! 
You know that, and I know it, and they know it — but 
we mustn't say it ! All right ; in God's name, what are 
we to say? 

Dr. Wadham. (He has been nervously regarding 
this raving as confirming the worst fears of Mr. Good- 
kind. Now he speaks very firmly) Precisely. (Rises) 



ACT ONE 35 

And that brings us to tomorrow's sermon. I understand 
you intend to talk about the strike. (Goes to 
Daniel c.) 

Daniel. Yes. 

Dr. Wadham. And that's not a very pleasant sub- 
ject for Christmas, is it ? Wouldn't it be more fitting to 
preach from the text, "Glory to God, in the Highest !" 

Daniel. "And on earth, Peace, good will toward 
men." 

Dr. Wadham. (Delighted) Yes! You might say, 
"There are many kinds of peace " 

Daniel. But there aren't ! 

Dr. Wadham. (Taken aback) There is physical 
peace — peace that came with the end of this cruel war ! 
There is mental peace 

Daniel. There is no peace! There is only fear — 
and hate — and vanity — and lust, and envy, and greed — 
of men and nations ! There are only people preying on 
one another, and a hungry mob at the very doors of 
your church ! (He looks up, and his tone changes to 
that of a man zvho sees a vision) — My text will be: 
"And Peter followed afar off." 

Dr. Wadham. I don't understand. 

Daniel. (Into his tone, hitherto indignantly human, 
comes something mystic — something divine) We all 
follow — afar off. 

Dr. Wadham. (Touches him. Alarmed; not at the 
words, but at that "something divine/') Daniel — my 
dear fellow! 

Daniel. Don't worry. I'm quite sane. Only — 
I've been wondering about that for a long time. 

Dr. Wadham. Wondering? 

Daniel. What would happen if anybody really tried 
to live like Christ? 

Dr. Wadham. (Shaking his head) It can't be done. 

Daniel. Isn't it worth trying ? Men risk their lives 
— every day — in experiments far less worth while. 
We've had centuries of "fear, and hate, and greed" — 



36 THE FOOL 

and where have they brought us? Why not try love? 

Dr. Wadham. How can you make them try? 

Daniel. By showing that it would work. 

Dr. Wadham. It won't work, Daniel. It's a beauti- 
ful ideal, but it won't work. Times have changed and 
things are different. Life isn't as simple as it was two 
thousand years ago. The trouble with you, Daniel, is 
that you're not practical. 

Daniel. I wonder. 

Dr. Wadham. And the great need of the Church 
is practical men. We mustn't take the scriptures too 
literally. We must try to interpret their spirit. And, 
above all, we must please our congregations — or we 
shan't have any. And then what becomes of our in- 
fluence? Better fall back on my text for tomorrow, 
Daniel. 

Daniel. I can't. 

(The two men look at each other fixedly. Their eyes 
say more than their voices. There is a short pause 
after each speech, building to a small climax.) 

Dr. Wadham. At least, you must promise not to 
discuss the strike. 

Daniel. I can't do that, Doctor. 

Dr. Wadham. Or else let me take the pulpit. 

Daniel. / won't do that! (A longer pause.) 

Dr. Wadham. Very well! Preach your Christmas 
sermon, and afterward 

Daniel. Yes? 

Dr. Wadham. I think you may find a greater field 
of usefulness elsewhere. 

(They look at each other a moment. Then Daniel 
turns and walks a step upstage c. Dr. Wadham 
crosses toward exit r. When he is just r. of c. 
Daniel turns and speaks.) 



ACT ONE 37 

Daniel. Doctor ! 

Dr. Wadham. I'm so sorry, Daniel. I know you've 
been very happy in your work here. I know how failure 
hurts. But you saw it coming, and you wouldn't turn 
aside. 

Daniel. (He looks up zvith flashing eyes) The man 
who turns away from his vision — lies ! (Shakes hands. 
He turns away and crosses almost to chair tliat holds 
his hat. Wadham drops head) It's all right, Doctor. 

(Clare Jewett, ready for the street, enters r.) 

Dr. Wadham. (Brightly) Well, Miss Jewett! 
(Daniel hears Clare's name arid stops) What's hap- 
pened to the choir ? Aren't they going to practice ? 

Clare. Mr. Hinkle cut his finger. I've been apply- 
ing first aid. 

Dr. Wadham. Woman's traditional mission — to 
bind our wounds. (He likes the sound of this phrase, 
and turns from Clare toward Daniel, who is on his 
l. He starts to repeat "to bind our — " when he realises 
the double significance of his remark. He looks from 
Daniel to Clare, connecting them in the minds of the 
audience, and then front) Well, I must be going! 
(Crosses r.) Step into my study in the morning, 
Daniel, and we'll have a look at your sermon ! (Bow- 
ing) Miss Jewett. (Exit r. From here the lights 
dim very slowly.) 

START DIM 

(The following scene, between Clare and Daniel, 
should be full of warmth and happiness. Clare 
has few opportunities to be light-hearted. This is 
one of them. In the beginning of the scene, 
Daniel's mind — and his eyes — are on the absent 
Wadham, but he speedily begins to show his love 
for Clare. The scene gets variety if this spirit is 
kept in it up to the beginning of the quarrel.) 



38 THE FOOL 

Clare, (r. c. Puts doll on ladder r.) I hope I 
never see another doll ! Got anything on your mind, 
Dan? 

Daniel, (l. Has hat in his hand. Quickly) What 
do you 

Clare. I mean anything special to do? 

Daniel. Oh ! — No. 

Clare. Take me home. 

Daniel. (He beams and crosses above chairs to her, 
hat in hand) I'm getting my Christmas present early! 

Clare. Where's your coat? 

Daniel. Outside. (She starts toward exit l. He 
stops her) That is — I lent it to a friend. Oh, I've got 
another — somewhere ! 

Clare. But you can't go out without a coat. (Looks 
at wrist watch) Anyway, I told the taxi man to come 
back at half past four. That's the worst of not having 
a car. Well, we may as well sit down ! 

(Daniel has been looking at the door through which 
Wadham made his exit. Now he mutters an 
apology for his forgetfulness and places the r. of 
the two chairs l.c. for her. The chair is spotted on 
the ground cloth. She sits. He is back of chair, 
still looking off absent-mindedly. She reaches up 
and puts her hand affectionately on his arm. ) 

What's the matter with you, Dan? (Puts hat on 
chair l.) 

Daniel. Nothing important. 

Clare. There will be if you insist on going around 
without an overcoat ! (Looks at him narrowly. He 
crosses up stage to other chair l.c.) You're too gen- 
erous. (He is miles away) I say you're too generous. 
How are we going to be married if you go on giving 
things away ! 

Daniel. (Brings chair forward, sits. Laughs) Is 
generosity a fault in a husband? 



ACT ONE 39 

Clare. That depends. Is it true you've been giving 
away — well — large sums of money? 

Daniel. Who told you that? 

Clare. A little bird. (He laughs) And that you've 
refused to take part of your income? 

Daniel. Little bird tell you that? 

Clare. Yes. 

Daniel. Must have been a cuckoo! (They both 
laugh.) 

Clare. Is it true? 

Daniel. About the money? Yes. 

Clare. Why ? 

Daniel. Well, there's the strike, and a good deal of 
unemployment, and I've got so much. Why — I've got 
you! (He takes Clare's hand. She gently pulls her 
hand away.) 

Clare. Let's not talk about it now. Yes, let's! — 
You're so changed. I hardly know you. We don't 
seem to want the same things any more. 

Daniel. What do you want, Clare? 

Clare. I want to be happy. 

Daniel. That's exactly what I want! 

Clare. How can anybody be happy without money ? 

Daniel. How can anybody be happy with it ? (She 
looks at him quickly) Anyway, do you think people 
are? Happier than the people who just have enough? 

Clare. In our day and age there's nothing worse 
than poverty! There's nothing more degrading than 
having to scrimp, and save, and do without, and keep 
up appearances ! I've tried it — ever since my father 
died — and I know! I can't do it any longer, and I 
won't! (Rises and goes up c.) 

Daniel. (Follows her up c.) Clare! 

Clare. (She turns to him, somewhat calmer, up c.) 
I don't want to quarrel with you, Dan. I just want you 
to be sensible — I love you, but I love the good things 
of life, too. I like to be warm and comfortable. 

Daniel. You can be sure of that. 



40 THE FOOL 

Clare. But that's only the beginning. I want good 
clothes, and furs, and my car, and money to spend 
when I like. I want my own house, and my own 
servants, and a husband who amounts to something. 
I'm no different from other women of my class. (To 
ladder.) 

Daniel. (Over to her) I hoped you were. 

Clare. (Turns. She is getting angry) A year or 
two ago, people thought you were going to be a Bishop. 
Today you've made an enemy of every influential man 
in the church. All that may be very noble, but I'm not 
noble, and I don't pretend to be. I don't feel any call 
to sacrifice myself for others, and I don't think you 
have any right to ask it ! (She turns away from him 
end walks a step r. He follozvs her and takes her hand.) 

Daniel. I do ask it, Clare. 

Clare. (Extricates her hand) You mean you're 
going on like this? 

Daniel. I mean I can't give you expensive clothes, 
and servants, and a big house while all about us people 
are hungry. 

Clare. What do you propose to give me ? 

Daniel. A chance to help. 

Clare. To help wash the dishes, I suppose, in a 
three-room flat. 

Daniel. And to visit the sick, and befriend the 
friendless. 

Clare. (Crosses front of two chairs and up above 
chair l. ) A charming prospect ! 

Daniel. (Back of r. chair l.c.) It really is, Clare. 
You don't know how happy we can be with work, and 
our modest plenty. There's so much to do — and they 
won't let me do it here. We've got to get near the 
people in trouble, and we can't with a big house and all 
that. I don't think we shall come to a three-room flat. 
(He smiles) We'll have five or six rooms, and our 
books, and each other. 

Clare. I can't believe you're serious. You've al- 



ACT ONE 41 

ways been a dreamer, but I can't believe you're going 
through with this fantastic nonsense! 

Daniel. I have chosen a narrow path, dear, but I 
hoped.it might be wide enough for us both. 

Clare. It isn't ! With your means and opportunities, 
you're offering me what any bank clerk would give his 
wife. I thought you loved me 

Daniel. Clare ! 

Clare. But you're utterly selfish, and I think a 
little mad. You've a right to throw away your own life, 
but you've no right to throw away mine. Our engage- 
ment is ended. (A pause. SJie hands him his ring; 
then starts for the door, hesitates, waits for him to call 
her back. When he doesn't, she returns) Don't you 
think you're making a terrible mistake? 

Daniel. (Looks up from the ring. Simply) No. 

(Clare turns again, this time quickly and with resolu- 
tion. Exit l. The church is quite dark, except for 
light on chairs, which now begins to dim; the light 
on the cross; and that on the tree. Daniel looks 
at the ring, and puts it in his pocket. Goes up c. 
and with his back to the audience, he looks at the 
altar of his church. Sobs. Suddenly from r. the 
organ is heard, playing "Hark, the Herald Angels 
Sing." In the twilight he hears a step. The Poor 
Man has entered l.) 

(Special Note: The idea here is that Daniel really 
is replying to a voice in his own mind — wrestling 
with his better self. This is easily conveyed. 
Daniel should never look in the direction of the 
Voice. He comes down to the lighted spot left 
of the ladder and looks straight front. He is much 
agitated, and should pick up his cues quickly. His 
tone is a fighting tone. When he quotes from the 
Bible every quotation is spoken ironically. The 
Poor Man's Voice is very calm, until he says "Did 



42 THE FOOL 

they?" These two words come like the crack of a 
whip, and the rest of the speech builds to the 
climax. ) 

Daniel. (Cont.) Who's there? — Are you looking 
for someone? 

Poor Man. (Down l. in the dark) Yes. 

Daniel. (To ladder) I'm the assistant rector — 
Mr. Gilchrist. 

Poor Man. I know you, Mr. Gilchrist. 

Daniel. Oh, yes, I remember. You're the man who 
was cold. Can I do anything for you? 

Poor Man. I think you can. 

Daniel. Out with it then. 

Poor Man. Perhaps I can help you, too. 

Daniel. In what way? 

Poor Man. In my way. 

Daniel. My poor man, I wish you could! (His 
despair impels him to confide in anyone) I was so sure 
of what I wanted to do, and now I begin to wonder if 
it can be done! 

Poor Man. It has been done. 

Daniel. But in this day — in this practical world — 
can any man follow the Master ? 

Poor Man. Why not? Is this day different from 
any other? Was the world never practical before? Is 
this the first time of conflict between flesh and spirit? 
If it could be done then, why not now, and if it was 
ever worth the doing, why not now? 

Daniel. But how? 

Poor Man. We have been told how. 

Daniel. "Take no thought of the morrow — Sell 
whatsoever thou hast, and give to the poor — Love thy 
neighbor as thyself — Bless them that curse you, do 
good to them that hate you." But if a man did those 
things today people would think him mad ! 
Poor Man. What does it matter? 
Daniel. He would lose everything! 



ACT ONE 43 

Poor Man. And gain everything! 

Daniel. What good can one man do ? 

Poor Man. Why don't you try? 

Daniel. He tried, and they crucified Him! 

Poor Man. Did they? And if they did, what does 
that matter? Is a man dead whose ideal lives? Ye 
crucified me, but I am with ye alway, even unto the 
end of the world ! 

Daniel. In God's name, who are you? 

Poor Man. I am a Jew ! 

{On this cue, the Star of Bethlehem, which should be 
on a dimmer, slowly begins to glow. The Poor 
.Man makes a quick, silent exit. The instant he is 
clear of the door, the spot on r. side of the border 
falls zvhere he has stood. It is a strong white light. 
Daniel steps into the amber spot by the chair 
with both hands extended, and gives a glad cry as 
he realises the nature of his visitation. On this cue, 
the choir, offstage r v bursts into "Hark, the Herald 
Angels Sing," sung as a hymn of triumph, and the 
curtain falls.) 

N.B. The choir is composed of members of the 
cast who can sing. 

CURTAIN 

One Picture. 

No Curtain Calls. 

32 Minutes. 

Note: The Poor Man should NEVER be seen clearly 
enough to make out who or what he is. Only light 
enough where he stands to make us suspect that 
there IS a figure in the doorway. The Poor Man 
is prictically a voice in the dark. The idea is that 
he is really a voice in Gilchrist's brain. 



cr? 




Act Two 



Scene: George F. Goodkind's Library, New York. 

The set has only two essentials — a wide, cur- 
tained, glass door l v and an ordinary, heavy 
wooden ^door down r. The first gives entrance to 
the music room, which is indicated rather com- 
pletely when the door is open. The second, by way 
of a hall, and a flight of stairs, not seen, leads to 
the main entrance of the house. For the rest, the 
library is a shallow room, very much like any other 
library in the home of any other rich and well- 
educated man. It is a little richer, and more 
luxurious than most, perhaps, with — here and 
th ere — priceless things from palaces in Venice or 
art collections in Rome. The obsession of busi- 
ness is suggested by various utilities, transient and 
otherwise — a rozv of lazv books, a small file, and 
a pile of papers upon the substantial library table. 
A mirror hangs on wall below door l. 

The carpet is of apricot velour. The library table 
c, 5 J /t ft. long, runs parallel to back wall which 
obliques a little. In front of table a bench as long 
as table. Back of table a side chair, and chairs R. 
and l. of it, partly pushed under table. R.c. an 
armchair, left of which a smoking-stand. L.C. 
similar armchair, R. of which a smoking stand. 
A side chair above door r., another above 
door l. Bookcases against wall. R.c. mahogany 
cabinet which serves as support for a classic vase, 
and as a cellarette containing tray with decanter 
of Cognac and pony glasses; on lower shelf, bottles 

45 



46 THE FOOL 

etc. are visible, l. of cellarette, a small table 
ivith silver humidor full of perfectos. Up l.c. a 
mahogany cabinet to match, with vase to match. 
Brackets and chandelier lighted soon after curtain 
rises. Push button below doors l. Switch above 
door r. 

Time. Ten months later. 

At Rise : It is a Saturday evening in November, 1919. 
The Goodkinds have been entertaining informally 
at dinner, and, having finished the chief business of 
the occasion, the company is now diverting itself 
in the music room. This room is brilliantly il- 
luminated, and the doors are open. (They open 
on stage. ) 

Mrs. Thornbury, in evening dress, is sitting on 
the couch against the upstage wing of the backing. 

Dilly, in evening dress — a pink frock — is 
standing at her side, or sitting on the arm of the 
couch. They are engaged in lively chatter. Before 
the curtain rises, a piano is heard brilliantly playing 
the ragtime melody popular in 1919 and known as 
"N' Everything." When the curtain is well up, a 
Servant with a card tray, enters r., crosses, exit 
l., and disappears into the music room, remaining 
out of sight long enough to have given the card to 
Goodkind. The Servant then re-enters, re- 
crosses, and re-exits, stopping en route to switch 
on the lights from the switch above the door r. 
Up to this moment, the stage, except for the room 
off-stage, has been in pitch darkness. The switch 
turns on the chandelier, and the wall brackets, 
rather brilliantly illuminating the stage. In other 
words, the footlights and border go more than half 
on, and, if possible, a spot from the music room 
highlights the table c, and the bench directly in 
front of it. As the Servant exits, Goodkind, 



ACT TWO 47 

in evening clothes, enters l. He has the card in his 
hand. He walks directly to the table, and, as he 
reaches it, Benfield, also in evening clothes, 
enters l. 



Benfield. What the h 

Goodkind. Shut the door. 

(Benfield does so. As he returns Goodkind gives 
him the card. Goodkind stands upstage of table, 
picks up sheet of paper, reads it, and tears it up.) 

Benfield. {Upstage l. of table. Reads card) 
"Labor conciliators." {Throws the card on the table) 
What the h 

Goodkind. {Above table) What are labor concili- 
ators? Mostly thugs. When you've been director in a 
coal mining company a little longer, you'll know. I've 
got a million dollars worth of 'em handling the strike. 

Benfield. Police duty? 

Goodkind. {Crosses to table up r. and picks up 
humidor) No ; spies and agents provocateur. I hate 
the breed, but what are you going to do about it ? This 
fellow, Max Stedtman, got into the union five or six 
years ago, and now he's one of the delegation they've 
sent up to me. — Where's Jerry? {Around r.c. to front 
of bench.) 

Benfield. I gave him the high sign. {To l. and 
below bench.) 

Goodkind. {Offering cigars) Smoke? 

Benfield. {Sits on bench. Takes cigar) Thanks. — 
Why didn't you go down to West Virginia ? 

Goodkind. {Returns to up r. and places humidor 
on r. upper comer of table) Had to look over that 
power plant in Canada. 

Benfield. Oh, yes! 

Goodkind. Anyway, what do I know about coal 
mining ? 



48 THE FOOL 

Benfield. You're president of the company. 

Goodkind. (Clips his cigar) Yes, but that means 
digging up money — not coal. (Offers Benfield light. 
Benfield shakes head. Prefers a "dry" smoke) I've 
never set foot in West Virginia in my life, and I don't 
want to ! 

Benfield. Yes, but in a serious situation like 
this 

Goodkind. I sent Jerry. Jerry has a dozen qualifica- 
tions and no scruples. And I sent Gilchrist. 

Benfield. Who has scruples and no qualifications. 

Goodkind. (Sits r., lights cigar) Thus striking 
balance. I mean that ! Don't make any mistake about 
Gilchrist. He's a valuable man. I didn't hire him be- 
cause I was sorry he got fired out of the church — and 
only a little because I knew his father. I hired him 
because he had theories, and I wanted to try 'em out ! 

Benfield. I'll say he's got theories ! 

Goodkind. Yes, and the remarkable part of it is — 
sometimes they work. They worked up at that power 
plant. A year ago I wouldn't have taken it as a gift. 
Gilchrist applied a little soft soap 

Benfield. Soft soap or gold dust? 

(Enter Jerry l. smoking cigarette. He is a little sul- 
len — the result of brandy and resentment. He, 
too, is in evening clothes. He closes the door 
behind him.) 

Goodkind. Well, both; but, damn it, Charlie, with 
all the increased wages and decreased working hours 
the plant's making money now for the first time! 
There's something in Gilchrist! 

Jerry. Yes, bats in his belfry ! 

Goodkind. All right ! 

Jerry. (Bettvcen chair l.c. and table) I told you 
what he was doing at the mines. Now he wires you, 
"Everything settled if you accede to rational condi- 



ACT TWO 49 

tions," and up comes this delegation! What are the 
conditions? I'll tell you now — surrender! You're crazy 
if you see these workmen! We've nothing to discuss! 
They're our mines, and we'll run 'em as we like! If 
this philanthropist of yours carries out instructions 
we've got 'em whipped! — What was the idea of the 
high sign? 

Goodkind. Stedtman. 

Jerry. Where is he ? 

Goodkind. On the way up. 

Jerry. Of course, we're leaving our guests flat! 

Benfield. Your zvife's in there ! 

Jerry. (Turns tip around chair l.c.) Clare resents 
our talking business at home. 

Goodkind. Resents — and you haven't been married 
a year ! Palaver's a wife's job ! They oil the machinery 
while we shovel in coal ! 

(The Servant enters R.) 

Servant. Mr. Stedtman. 

(Enter Max Stedtman. He is a wiry little man, with 
the face of a ferret and the furtiveness of a rat. 
His nervousness does not indicate lack of self- 
confidence. That quality has made Stedtman the 
man he is today. For the rest, he is forty, and 
faintly Semitic. The Servant exits, closes door.) 

Goodkind. (Rising) How do, Stedtman? This is 
Mr. Benfield — one of our new directors. (They ac- 
knowledge the introduction, Benfield giving a curt, 
comedy grunt) You know my son. 

Stedtman. (Nods) Saw him down to Black River. 
How are yer ? 

(Jerry sits down l.; Benfield stands l. of table. 
Goodkind sits back of it; Stedtman stands r.) 



,50 THE FOOL 

Goodkind. Well ? 

Stedtman. Well — the committee's on its way. (On 
line with chair up c.r. of table.) 

Goodkind. Who's in this delegation? 

Stedtman. I'm Chairman. We've got a Pole called 
Umanski. 

(Cue for Waltz. "Song of the Rose." Refrain played 
twice on violin and piano. The opening fox trot 
was "N' Everything" and the chorus of that was 
played twice.) 

Goodkind. (Writes) Umanski. 

Stedtman. He's a radical. You can't do anything 
with him. But there's a fellow named Joe Hennig 

Goodkind. Who'll listen to reason? 

Stedtman. I think so. 

Goodkind. Why ? 

Stedtman. He's got a pretty wife. 

Benfield. What the h { (To- 

Goodkind. What has that to do with it? \gether) 

Stedtman. Lots. Pretty wives like pretty things. 
(Benfield quietly sits l. of tabic) Hennig's in debt, 
and this girl's on his neck every minute. She's a peach. 
You know her, Mr. Jerry? 

Jerry. No. 

Stedtman. Pearl Hennig? 

Jerry. (Emphatically) No. 

Stedtman. Oh! {There is comedy here by Stedt- 
man's saying "Oh I" in exactly the same tone in which 
Jerry said "No.") I thought I saw you talking to her 
once. Anyway, Gilchrist knows her — well. 

Benfield. You mean 

Stedtman. I mean I wouldn't mention Gilchrist to 
Joe Hennig. 

Goodkind. That's rot ! 

Stedtman. (Back of chair r. of table) Anyhow, 
Hennig and me are two votes, and I figure Hennig's 



ACT TWO 51 

will cost about — {He looks at tlicm narrowly) — fifteen 
thousand dollars. 

(All Three show surprise.) 

Goodkind. I don't like bribery. 

Benfield. Not when it isn't necessary. 

Goodkind. And Gilchrist wired yesterday : "Every- 
thing settled." 

Jerry. On conditions. 

Stedtman. Yeh — on their conditions ! Take it from 
me, this Gilchrist has double-crossed you! 

Benfield. I told you! \ {Together.) 

Jerry. He's a ] 

Stedtman. {Goes right on, without heeding the 
simultaneous interruption) He's been at union meet- 
ings ! He got 'em to send this delegation, and he tried 
to get 'em to turn down Hennig — our one best bet! 
You take it from me 

Goodkind. {Quietly) I won't take it from you, 
Stedtman. {He fixes Stedtman with his eyes until 
Stedtman quails and slinks back. Then he looks at 
Benfield and Jerry, and says quietly) Or from any- 
body else. I know this man. 

(Note: The keynote of Stedtman's character is that 
he always goes as far as he dares — insolently when 
he gets worked up — and quickly slinks back when 
he is "called." He gets at the top of his impudence 
twice in this scene — each time being a small climax. 
The first time is that above. The second time is 
when he says "Blame Gilchrist/'' which is a 
distinct climax. On his two long speeches he takes 
stage, delivering the speeches as though he zvere 
addressing an audience — making broad gestures, 
indicating an imaginary billboard, etc.) 



52 THE FOOL 

Stedtman. (Cowed) Well, he's gone around talkin' 
compromise. 

Goodkind. Oh, compromise ! 

Stedtman. Compromise ain't no way to settle a 
strike. Givin' 'em confidence. Why, we got a couple o' 
hundred representatives among the workmen tellin' 'em 
they got no chance. We got special police dubbin' 'em 
every time they try to hold a meeting. You wouldn't 
believe what we done down there in the way of 
harmony ! 

Goodkind. It's all been done before. 

Stedtman. Never no completer! We're workin' 
the black list and, if a man opens his mouth too wide 
at a meeting, somebody — he don't know who — tips the 
government that he's a "red." We got 'em so they 
ain't sure of their own brothers. We're postin' bills, 
in seven languages, saying: "Why should work-men 
mistrust the company ? This is the land of opportunity ! 
America is calling you— GO BACK TO WORK!" 
The boss has a scheme now to start a riot between the 
Poles and the Wops! And you know the end o' 
that! Troops, and scabs, and machine guns! What 
stopped it? One gent that don't know nothin' about 
harmony, or co-operation, or nothin' — except hanging 
around after a skirt! If you got to descend to bribery 
now, don't blame me — blame Gilchrist! 

Benfield. (Striking the table with his open hand) 
He's absolutely right ! 

Jerry. Of course, he's right! Wha'd'ya expect of 
a man kicked out of his church for Bolshevism? 

Benfield. He ought to be brought back right now ! 

Goodkind. He's coming back! (Servant enters 
r.) Yes; what is it? 

Servant. Two men to see Mr. Stedtman. 

Benfield. Good ! 

Goodkind. Bring them in! (Servant exits.) 

Stedtman. (He waits until the door is safely dosed) 



ACT TWO 53 

Now look— don't try nothin' before Umanski! Just 
give us an excuse to vote right, and then we'll go out, 
and get rid of him, and I'll slip back with Hennig! 
(Hennig's voice off r.) Now then — (His sharp ears 
have heard Joe's voice off r. He strikes a pose.) It's 
very good of you gentlemen to see us! I was goin' 
to meet my friends outside — (The Servant ushers in 
Joe Hennig) — but you been so kind and agreeable — 
Hello, Joe! (He says this very heartily, and shakes 
hands with Joe, who immediately slips around back of 
chair r., and goes upstage after "Hello, Max !", leaving 
Stedtman facing the door.) 

(Violinist off stage playes Barcarolle with piano ac- 
companiment. Played through once, beginning as 
Umanski enters.) 

Joe. Hello, Max! 

(Enter Umanski. Exit Servant.) 

Umanski. You said you be on the sidewalk. 

Stedtman. I just really got in myself. This is Mr. 
Goodkind. He's the President. And a couple o' di- 
rectors. Well, now we can get down to business. 

(He takes stage. Hennig is now up r., near the chair 
r. of tabic. Stedtman is just below him. 
Umanski is downstage r. of chair r.c.) 

(Umanski stares in amazement at his temerity. 
Umanski is a giant Pole or Russian. Whatever 
flesh he ever had has been starved off ; he is all 
bone and brawn. In his face is something strangely 
like poetry, something born of silence and suffer- 
ing. He is in his best, which does not obliterate the 
picture of the man in working clothes, his sleeves 



54 THE FOOL 

rolled up over his muscular arms. Hennig is a 
stocky man of 45 — a ''grouser." His tone has 
none of the courage, the dignity, the independence 
of Umanski's; he blusters, emptily, an echo, with- 
out much to say, and one guesses he might be made 
to bluster either way. There is a pause.) 

Goodkind. Smoke ? 

{He presents the humidor to Hennig, who accepts a 
cigar. Stedtman reaches over and helps himself. 
Goodkind goes on to Umanski, zvho never takes 
his eyes from the face of Goodkind, and quietly 
folds his arms behind his back, refusing a cigar. 
Goodkind shuts the box with a click, returns, and 
sets it upper right end of table. Goodkind sits 
back of table.) 

Well? 

Joe. (Crosses above Stedtman to r. of Goodkind) 
Well, I guess you know all about our grievances. 

Goodkind. I didn't know you had any. 

Joe. You didn't know we had any ? 

Benfield. Ah, you fellows are never satisfied! 

Goodkind. You're getting plenty for what you do! 
What are you complaining about? You've left good 
jobs to follow a lot of idle, discontented agitators! 
We've got to win this fight on principle! The work's 
there! I pay what I can get men for, and not a cent 
more ! Take it or leave it ! 

Joe. We got to hang together to get anything ! 

Goodkind. You're hanging, and what have you got ? 

(Joe motions to Stedtman to start something.) 
Stedtman. I — eh — well 



ACT TWO 55 

(In the scene that follows, Umanski practically de- 
livers a monologue. He pays no attention to cues, 
and talks through every interruption. Their only 
effect is to make him lift his voice above the others, 
and talk them down. That is, after cue "your son!" 
He builds to a climax as he goes on. With "yes, 
work twelve hours a day and got enough to eat" a 
fighting tone comes into his voice.) 

Umanski. I work twelve hours — every day— thurty 
years — got nothing. 

Benfield. Why should you have? An untrained 
man 

Jerry. You don't even know English 

Umanski. How I gonna learn English — work twelve 
hours a day? 

Jerry. Nobody asked you to take the job ! Nobody 
asked you to come over here ! You're not an American ! 

Umanski. I was American. 

Jerry: (Sneers) When? 

Umanski. When I fight in the war. (A short 
pause.) 

Jerry. (Rises, goes up r. and turns to Goodkind) 
We're not getting anywhere. We've been over this a 
dozen times ! 

Goodkind. What do you want ? 

Umanski. I wanna chance to learn! I wanna 
chance to live! I wanna see — sun! 

Jerry. Wha'dya mean — son? \ (Together.) 

Goodkind. Your son ? | 

Umanski. God's sun. I never see him. Go to mines 
— him not up. Work in mines — him not see. Go home 
— him gone. 

Jerry. You can't dig coal in a rose garden. (Dozvn 
to chair l.c.) 

Umanski. Got baby five years ago. Never see him. 
Go to mines — him not up. Come back — him sleep. Go 
home one day — him gone. 



•56 THE FOOL 

Goodkind. Dead ? 

Umanski. (Nods) My wife say: "Good! Not 
such many to feed !" 

Jerry. When you worked you had enough to eat, 
didn't you? (Takes out gold cigarette case.) 

Umanski. Yes. Work twelve hours a day and got 
enough to eat — so can work some more. Always work. 
Get up — work — come back — sleep — get up — work. 
Never got time to talk to wife — never got time to talk 
to nobody — never got nowhere. Never save nothing. 

Joe. (Whining) It ain't fair! 

Umanski. (Coming forward to R. lower edge of 
'table c. Stedtman up r. of table. Hennig up extreme 
r.) That little box — what you pay for him? (Jerry 
turns front, not deigning to answer, puts case away) 
Ah, I know ; gold. You pay more for him than I got 
out of swing pick thirty years. Me and six families — 
we live in one house you own. (He says this directly 
to Goodkind.) 

Goodkind. Why, we spent thou 

Umanski. We got one room upstairs; two down 
cellar. Sleep there. Eat — cook — wash upstairs. See 
nothing but brick yard, and clothes hang up to dry. 
Wife — she carry water from yard. Me — I carry potato 
peeling and such things out front. Him rot. If I don't 
like that, I quit — and starve! 

Jerry. You want to live on Fifth Avenue! 

Benfield. And then you'd find something to kick 
about ! 

Umanski. If I don't like, other mans will. Other 
mans take my job. I got little girl twenty years old. 
Awful pretty little girl. Got gold hair. Got blue eyes. 
Her take sick. She sorry she's sick. She wanna go 
church. She ask me: "Pop, buy me new dress for 
church. Buy me pretty pink dress." She all the time 
ask me. Where I get him? We hire doctor once, and 
he say : "Air — sunshine — milk — eggs !" Where I gonna 
get air — sunshine — milk — eggs? Got no job. 



ACT TWO 57 

Benfield. Well — now. 

Umanski. {Throughout this, standing at r. near 
edge of table, he has delivered his sympathetic lines to 
Goodkind — sensing that Goodkind is sorry for him — 
and has biased his angry lines at Benfield. With "I 
tell you we got a right to quit" he begins slowly walk- 
ing in front of the table tozvard the doors l. Jerry 
comes down to get between him and the doors. At "we 
gonna fight," Benfield rises, with his fists clinched, 
ready to throw Umanski out if necessary. Goodkind 
rises. Umanski builds this speech until at "By God!" 
he is standing at l. end of table, with his hands in the 
air, appealing to God, a figure representing the wrongs 
of Labor through all the ages) My little girl, she cough, 
and cough, and one night she die. I tell you we got a 
right to quit ! We got a right to hang together ! {Fac- 
ing Benfield) We got a right to fight — to live — and, 
by God, we gonna fight — we gonna live — we gonna — 
by God! 

(Dilly runs into room from l. She has gold luiir; 
she has blue eyes, and what is more, she has a new 
dress. It is a "pretty pink dress," too, and its 
ozvner wears jewels worth the ransom of a dozen 
Umanskis. Without turning from Umanski, 
Jerry puts out his arm to stop Dilly. She is not 
aware of Umanski until she is checked by his arm. 
Then she stands quite still staring at him in amaze- 
ment.) 

Dilly. {As she enters) Now, look here, Jerry, 
you're not going to 

(Umanski and Dilly are motionless, staring at ea-ch 
other. She docs not know what to make of him. 
He is almost persuaded that he is looking at his 
own dead child. Suddenly he covers his face with 
his arm and, with a great sob, drops upon the bench. 



58 THE FOOL 

As he sinks down, the piano and violin offstage 
strike up a fox-trot, "How You Gonna Keep 'Em 
Down On The Farm." The first bar is played as 
loudly as possible, and then the music softens to 
close. The chorus only is played and that only 
once. Goodkind looks at Umanski sympathetical- 
ly and zvalks around the r. side of the table down- 
stage R.C.) 

Dilly. I'm so sorry! 

Jerry. You'll have to wait, Dilly. 

Goodkind. (Dozvn r.c.) Ask the ladies to stay in 
the drawing room. We'll join them in a few minutes. 

Dilly. (Goes l. followed by Jerry) Yes — cer- 
tainly — I'm so sorry! (Exit. Jerry closes door l.) 

(Umanski's eyes stare at the door through which 
Dilly has disappeared. A pause. Offstage Mrs. 
Gilliam is heard to say 'Oh, Dilly, look!" and 
Dilly laughs loudly. Goodkind is at r. end of 
bench. Joe Hennig is upstage r.c. Stedtman 
is behind the chair r.c.) 

Goodkind. I think we'd better let this go for to- 
night. (Comes down r. of table.) 

Umansky. (Looks toward l. where Dilly has 
gone. Rises) Oh, no! — Me — I'm all right! Excuse! 

Goodkind. You're a little upset, and I have guests. 
Besides, Gilchrist will be here in half an hour, and I 
want to talk to him before I say anything definite. Sup- 
pose we all meet here tomorrow, at noon. 

Joe. (At r., turns down angrily at mention of the 
name) Not Gilchrist ! 

Goodkind. No; just we six — and, maybe, one or 
two more of our directors. 

Stedtman. All right! 

Umanski. I wanna know tonight what we gonna do ! 

Goodkind. We're going to get together. You fel- 



ACT TWO 59 

lows have got the wrong idea. We're not tyrants, or 
monsters. We're Christians, and we want to act like 
.Christians. Only — we've got to live too. We've got 
to have the things we're used to, just as you have. But 
I think I can promise if the strike's called off, you men 
will be kept, and put back just where you were. (He 
says this with all the kindness and warmth in the world ; 
as though he zvere promising something magnificent. 
Umanski, deceived by his tone, shows growing hope 
up to "will be kept and put back," but his face falls 
when he hears "just where you were") Ring the bell, 
Jerry. 

(Jerry does so; a pause.) 

Benfield. (Up l.) I guess you don't want me any 
more. 

Goodkind. (r.c.) No. 

"Benfield. Thanks. (Exit l. A pause.) 

Goodkind. (Turns r. to Hennig, making conver- 
sation. Stedtman crosses quietly upstage to Uman- 
ski, and urges him, in pantomime, to "forget it." Both 
have backs to audience. Umanski is looking after 
Dilly.) You live in Black River? 

Joe. Yes. 

Goodkind. Married ? 

Joe. You betcha ! Prettiest girl in West Virginia ! 
We only been married a year. I got her in the five- 
and-ten-cent store. (Goodkind shows surprise) I — 
mean, that's where she was working. She's at her 
sister's now — up to Pittsburg. Left the day before I 
was elected to come here. (Proudly) I sent her a 
telegram ! , 

Goodkind. You don't say so! (To Jerry) Any- 
thing the matter with that bell ? 

Jerry, (l.) The man's busy, I suppose. I'll show 
them out. (Crosses at back to door r.) 



60 THE FOOL 

Goodkind. If you will — Well, goodnight! (He 
shakes hands with Hennig.) 

Hennig. Goodnight. (Goes to door r. Stedtman 
crosses r. Goodkind offers hand to Umanski, but 
that giant is immobile. His slozv mind has been think- 
ing out the earlier declaration.) 

Umanski. (c.) What about this here twelve-hour 
day? 

Goodkind. (r.c.) We'll consider that after the 
strike's called off. 

Umanski. And the twenty-four hour shift? 

Goodkind. We'll consider that, too. Meanwhile — 
you go back just where you were! 

Umanski. Then what good we gain by strike? 

Goodkind. Nothing's ever gained by quarreling. 
You'll find that out some day. 

Umanski. Some day something be gain ! Some day 
we gonna win! This — (Indicates until his head) can't 
go on always! You see! (To Goodkind: who goes 
up R. of table.) 

Jerry. (At door. Insolently) Are you ready? 

'{Exit Hennig.) 

Umanski. (Crosses to Jerry as though he were 
going to strike him. When he reaches Jerry, stands 
still and looks him over with huge contempt.) You 
see! (Exit r.) 

Stedtman. (Significantly, in a loud whisper) We'll 
be back later. (Exit r.) 

Jerry. Swine! (Exit.) 

(Goodkind gives a sigh, obviously worried by the in- 
terview, goes to the table, and rights tlie topmost 
paper. Looks at it. Sits, and examines other 
papers. The Servant enters r. with box contain- 
ing fur neckpiece.) 



ACT TWO 61 

Servant. Did you ring, sir ? 

Goodkind. Half an hour ago. 

Servant. (Indicating a box) I was signing for 
this. (Goodkind, writing, doesn't look up) Can I 
do anything for you, sir ? 

Goodkind. Yes — Get me a drink. 

(The Servant lays box on chair r.c. Goes to Good- 
kind for key, r. of Goodkind above table. Good- 
kind takes key-ring from pocket, selects key and 
gives to him. Servant unlocks a ccllarette, up r., 
takes out decanter and glasses, rclocks the ccllar- 
ette, comes down l. of table, with tray in one hand, 
key dangling from other hand, sets down the tray, 
and returns the key,) 

Thanks. 

(Servant gets box, starts to exit l. Enter Clare, c.) 

Oh, and Riggs! If Mr. Stedtman comes back later — 
with one of the other men — I'll see them in here. 

Servant. Very good, sir. (To Clare) This 
package just came for you, Madam. (He gives her the 
box. Exit l. A pause.) 

Goodkind. Everybody gone? 

(Light in music room is dimmed.) 

Clare. (Sits l. end of bench) They're aU down 
in the billiard room. We wanted to make up a couple 
of tables of bridge, but with the men in here — as usual 
— Where's Jerry? (Untying string on box.) 

Goodkind. I don't know. 

Clare. I've seen him just ten minutes this week. 

Goodkind. He's only been back three hours. 

Clare. Well — I wish he wouldn't break up my din- 
ner parties. 



62 THE FOOL 

Goodkind. (Pushes back papers) What have you 
got there ? 

Clare. (Looking at contents of box) Another — 
substitute 

Goodkind. Substitute, for what? (Rises, and 
comes down r. to front of table.) 

Clare. (As she opens it) For my husband's time 
— and love — and companionship. (Holds up a sable 
scarf) Sables. (She shows it to Goodkind.) 

Goodkind. (Sits r. end of bench. The box is be- 
tween them. Looks at it zvith admiration) Hm! You 
don't seem much surprised. 

Clare. No — Whenever Jerry's been away longer 
than usual, or done something he's a little ashamed of, 
there's a box from Tiffany's or Revillon. (Puts back 
furs. ) 

Goodkind. Ah, yes — er (Handling them ad- 
miringly) Must have been a whopper this time! 

Clare. (Seriously, wondering) Yes? 

Goodkind. (Looks sharply at her) Pretty gener- 
ous husband — if you ask me! 

Clare. (Sighs) Yes. (She puts the box on table.) 

(NOTE: Clare has put the top of this box under- 
neath it, so that she lifts the whole thing with one 
hand and, reaching betzveen herself and Goodkind, 
places the box out of the way on the r. end of 
table.) 

Goodkind. Upon my word, I don't know what you 
women want! — A man works his heart and soul out to 
get you things ; and still you're not satisfied ! 

Clare. Perhaps we'd like a little "heart and soul." 
Goodkind. Heart and soul, and what a man trades 
'em for ! You want your husband to succeed, and give 
all his attention to you ! You want him to have plenty 
of money, and plenty of time ! You're willing to take 
everything, but you're not willing to pay for it ! 



ACT TWO 63 

Clare. (Sighs) I suppose everybody must pay. 

Goodkind. Surest thing you know! You women 
are all alike. My poor wife — she had everything, and 
I used to catch her crying in a corner. We never 
seemed to understand each other — after we got this. 
She was a good wife, too — but the best of you never 
seem to want what you have — Sometimes I think none 
of us really want what we struggle so hard to get. 
Sometimes I think we're all wrong! (Rises) Well, 
I guess I'll go downstairs! (Goes r.c.) 

Clare. (Rising, goes l.c, beginning to cry) I wish 
you would. 

Goodkind. (Looks at her from r.c.) Um — you're 
not crying? (She turns her face to him) My God! 
Can you beat it ? 

Clare. I'll be down in a minute. 

Goodkind. (Crosses back of her) Tell Riggs — 
will you? — if anyone comes — I'll be — talking to Jerry. 
(He puts his hand on her shoulder. He is l. of her. 
Kindly) And — buck up! There are people worse off 
than we are — and it's a great life if you don't weaken! 
Buck up. 

(He exits l. Clare dries her eyes, and is powdering 
her nose at mirror l. when Daniel Gilchrist 
opens the door r. He is in business clothes, and 
starts to retire when he sees Clare. He would a 
little rather avoid the interview.) 

Clare. (Catching reflection in mirror) Oh, don't 
go ! I was just powdering my nose. Does that offend 
your reverence ? 

Daniel, (r.c) On the contrary! I agree with the 
man who said, "Put your trust in God, and keep your 
powder dry." (They laugh.) 

Clare. (To c.) When did you get in? 

Daniel. Half an hour ago. 

Clare. Had dinner? 



64 THE FOOL 

Daniel. On the train. I was starved. Thank good- 
ness, they don't charge for dinner by the mile ! — Riggs 
said your father-in-law was in here. 

Clare. Hell be up in a moment — won't you sit 
down? 

Daniel. (Starts to sit) Thanks. 

Clare. We haven't had five minutes together since 

(Her speech stops him. She observes this and 

changes her tone) Oh, do sit down. (Sits r. end of 
bench) I understand you're very happy in your new 
— profession. 

Daniel. (Sitting) Yes. 

Clare. You've got — everything — you want? 

Daniel. No, I haven't everything I want, but I'm 
happy. 

Clare. My father-in-law tells me that if you settle 
this strike you're to be — but that's a business secret. 
(A pause) I suppose I might tell you. (A pause) 
He says it'll make you a big man in the company — with 
a tremendous salary — You mustn't give it away! 

Daniel. The secret? 

Clare. The salary — 

Daniel. Oh! (They both laugh.) 

Clare. I suppose you've got over that — so — you 
don't really seem to have lost anything by giving up 
your church. 

Daniel. No. Queer as it seems, sometimes I think 
I've gained — in opportunity. 

Clare. (Chiefly to herself) Perhaps one might have 
eaten one's cake and had it, too. 

Daniel. (Rising) Clare! 

Clare. (Rises. Crosses to him between table and 
chair r.) You frightened me so that night, with the 
bug-a-boo of poverty. Don't you think there might have 
been a compromise? Something half way? 

Daniel. Why open wounds that are beginning to 
heal? 

Clare. Yours seem quite healed. (She turns azvay 



ACT TWO 65 

from him, and going to the table, picks up the furs.) 

Daniel. (Glancing at furs) And you? Have you 
everything you want ? 

Clare. Yes. 

Daniel. You see — I was selfish — to ask you to give 
up the things that count so much with you for those 
that count with me. — Afterward, when I knew you 
were to be married — I was afraid for you — and I was 
wrong again. You're happy — and I'm honestly glad! 

Clare. (Turning and going to him) Are you — 
honestly — happy ? 

Daniel. Honestly. 

Clare. In just helping others? 

Daniel. In just helping others. 

Clare. (Takes step to him midway between chair 
and table) I don't understand that. 

Daniel. (Very simply) You will — someday 

(Jerry enters r. He has added tzvo or three brandies 
to a generous allowance at dinner, and though not 
drunk, is sullen and quarrelsome, the more so at 
finding Daniel with Clare. He faces them, his 
back to audience, and stares at them with comic 
insolence a moment before speaking.) 

Jerry. Hello, Gilchrist! In early, aren't you? I 
didn't mean to interrupt a tete-a-tete! (Crosses l.c.) 

Clare. You're not interrupting. 

Jerry. Where's Father? 

Clare. I thought he was with you. 

Jerry. (He reels slightly) No — I stopped for re- 
freshments. 

Clare. I see you did. 

(Jerry goes to upper l. end of table and pours himself 
a drink.) 

Jerry. (Laughs and turns to Daniel, who has drop- 



66 THE FOOL 

ped down by chair r.) We've been having a genial 
evening with your delegation. That's why my wife's 
sore. 

Clare. I'm not "sore." I've been a little lonely. 

Jerry. {Looking at Daniel) You don't look it! — 
I couldn't help going to Black River ! I didn't go for 
pleasure — did I, Gilchrist? 

Daniel. No, indeed. There was work, and plenty 
of it. I was sorry you had to leave when you did. 

(Jerry begins to be ivorried.) 

Clare. Why, Jerry didn't leave much before you, 
did he? 

Jerry. Just a few 

Daniel. {At the same time) Only twenty-four 
hours. — He wanted to get back to you, I suppose. 

Clare. But — he's just got back. — Where have you 
been, Jerry? 

Jerry. Attending to business — {Drinks) of course! 

Clare. {Hard) Of course. {She takes the scarf 
from the box on the table) Goodnight, Dan. 

Daniel. {Cheerily) Goodnight! {She starts in 
front of table toward door l.) 

Jerry. {Comes down l. of table and faces her before 
she can cross) Oh — you got the furs! 

Clare. Yes — thank you. 

Jerry. Don't mention it! 

Clare. I'm very grateful — but 

Jerry. But what? 

Clare. Never mind, we'll talk about it some other 
time. {Crosses in front of Jerry.) 

Jerry. We'll talk about it now! (Clare stops just 
l. of Jerry.) 

Daniel. I'll go. {Starts r.) 

Jerry. No, you won't. {To Daniel) You made a 
crack about my leaving twenty-four hours before you 
did! How do you know when I left? {To Clare) 



ACT TWO 67 

If that's what you're sore about, for Heaven's sake, 
drop it ! I'm sorry you've been alone, and I've sent you 
a handsome gift as an apology! 

Clare. {Throwing scarf on arm of chair and facing 
him) I don't want it. I don't want to be paid for 
shutting my eyes to any insulting thing you choose 
to do! 

Jerry. And I don't propose to be made a blackguard 
before strangers ! 

Clare. Dan isn't a stranger ! And I don't want to 
make you a blackguard. Only — since you've insisted 
on the truth — Dan, when did my husband leave Black 
River ? 

Daniel. I haven't seen him since Thursday. 

Jerry. (Facing Clare; his back to Daniel) There 
you have it — he hasn't seen me since Thursday. Does 
it occur to you that may have been because he wasn't 
in Black River? 

Clare. No. 

Daniel. As a matter of fact, I wasn't. 

Jerry. (Surprised and immensely relieved, turns 
quickly to Daniel, and as quickly takes advantage of 
his generosity) Oh! — Where were you? 

Daniel. (Coming into the scene a little) At the 
mines. 

Clare. Is that the truth? 

Jerry. (To Clare) Of course it's the truth. And 
if it wasn't, I don't see that you've any right to ask 
questions ! I haven't done anything that wasn't in the 
bargain ! I haven't done anything every man doesn't do ! 
(Wheels l. and goes up stage. This speech is NOT 
read for a laugh. Melodrama here building to a climax.) 

Clare. Every man — perhaps — but one! 

Jerry. (Turns) Gilchrist! My God! Now we've 
got it ! If you'd only married him ! He's good, because 
he says so ! You ought to 've been here a minute ago — 
when the company detective warned us not to mention 
Gilchrist to Joe Hennig! (Down to l.c.) 



68 THE FOOL 
Daniel. You mean 



Jerry. I mean Pearl Hennig! 

Daniel. Pearl Hennig? Why, you — (He advances 
a step, violently. He is about to say "dirty liar," but 
changes his mind and says quietly) — you know that's 
not true ! 

Clare, (l.) / know it's not true ! 

Jerry. Do you? (Voices of Servant, Hennig and 
Stedtman off r. "Hennig, stay out of here." "Stay 
out? I will not!" "Please don't go in there." Jerry 
recognises the voices, and, struck with an idea, continues 
above them) Ask Stedtman! Ask Hennig! And be- 
fore you make up your mind where / was yesterday, 
ask where he was 

(Joe Hennig and Stedtman burst into the room. 
Joe comes first; Stedtman clinging to his arm and 
trying to hold him back. The Servant comes 
after, and, realising that he is too late to do any- 
thing, stands quietly by the door until dismissed. 
Joe throws Stedtman off and upstage ivith his 
"Behave — hell!" Joe rushes straight at Daniel 
after this speech. Naturally, everyone in the 
room looks at him.) 

Stedtman. Say — listen — you behave yourself ! 

Joe. Behave — hell! (Crosses to Daniel) You — 
Gilchrist ! Where've you got my wife? 

Daniel. I haven't got your wife, Hennig. 

Joe. The hell you haven't ! 

Daniel. You'd better go, Clare. (Clare starts to 
exit up l.) 

Jerry. I want her to stay. (She stops and looks at 
him. He waits until he is quite certain of her remain- 
ing — quite a long pause, and then turns r. To the 
Servant) All right — What's it all about, Stedtman? 

(Exit Servant. Positions are as follows: Clare 



ACT TWO 69 

l. : Jerry l.c. : Daniel r.c. Hennig r. of Daniel 
— Stedtman r.) 

Stedtman. {Down r.) You can search me ! Uman- 
ski stuck to us all the way home. When he left, I 
went in to have a little talk with Joe — alone. See? 
There was a telegram, and he read it, and 

Joe. And come here to ask Gilchrist: Where's my 
wife? 

Daniel. She told me she was going to her sister's. 

Joe. She ain't never been near her sister, and you 
know it! {Gropes in pocket while Jerry comes over) 
I just got this from her sister. {Holds out wire. Jerry 
snatches it ) Read it ! 

Jerry. {Reading. All in one tone.) Pearl ain't here. 
We ain't seen her. Ain't she home? {After reading, 
puts telegram on table l.) 

Daniel. Maybe she is. 

Joe. {He has never moved from his position r. of 
Daniel) You know she ain't ! And what if she is — 
now ? I don't want your leavings ! 

Daniel. Why do you say that, Hennig? 

Joe. Why do I say it? Ain't I seen you down 
town with her ? Ain't I found you with her when 
I came home unexpected? I knew you was stuck on 
her, and I warned you to stay away — didn't I? 

Daniel. You were mistaken. 

Joe. Didn't I warn you? 

Daniel. Yes. 

Joe. And you come again — didn't you ? 

Daniel. Yes. 

Jerry. {To Clare. He goes up) Every man — but 
one! 

Daniel. I went first on your account — because they 
told me you were in debt — and why. I "came again" 
because she asked me to. This disappearance looks 
queer, I admit, but people do get lost, or hurt, and taken 
to hospitals, and aren't identified. 



70 THE FOOL 

Joe. {Half convinced) You think 

Daniel. I think your wife's all right, Joe. I don't 
think you ought to accuse her publicly until you're 
sure she's not. 

Joe. {Cries) How'm I gonna be sure? 

Daniel. Suppose we ask the police to look for her ? 

Jerry. {Down l.c. Turning quickly, comes down 
l.c.) What's the use of starting a hulla-ba-loo ? You 
don't want the woman accused publicly, but you're will- 
ing to spread the news so this man'll be ashamed to go 
back home. We all know the facts in the case, and the 
least said about it now the better. {To Joe) You've 
found her out, Joe. Let her go — and forget it ! 

Clare, (l.) I don't think he ought to forget it. 

Jerry. No ? 

Clare. {Very positively) No. I don't think he 
ought to drop it now — until we all know the truth. 

Daniel. {Positively) Right! 

Joe. I want to know the truth ! I got to ! I been 
crazy about her ! Maybe that's a good idea — the police. 
I got to know the truth! 

Jerry. {Each of these speeches has been the turn of 
a screw on him. He has been facing Clare, but, through 
the preceding speech from Joe, has slowly turned r., 
and is now at bay) All right! Stedtman! {Steps for- 
ward a step) Where were you yesterday? (Joe looks 
at Stedtman.) 

Stedtman. At the mines. 

Jerry. What part of the mines? 

Stedtman. All over. 

Jerry. Did you see Gilchrist ? 

Stedtman. No. 

(Daniel, who has been looking at Stedtman, slowly 
turns his eyes to Clare and watches the effect of 
this on her. Her eyes are on him. Joe, mechani- 
cally, almost as though hypnotized, moves toward 
Stedtman.) 



ACT TWO 71 

(Stedtman dozvn r. Joe just l. of him. Daniel's leg 
is almost touching the r. etrd of bench. Jerry is 
a few feet l. of the l. end of bench. Clare is 
dozvnstage l. There must be a clear line of vision 
between Clare and Daniel and between Stedt- 
man and Jerry.) 

Jerry. When did you see him last ? 

Stedtman. Thurs — Yes, it was Thursday. 

Jerry. Where ? 

Stedtman. In Black River. 

Jerry. Alone ? 

Stedtman. No. 

Jerry. With whom? 

Stedtman. With Mrs. Hennig. 

Joe. (Starts for Daniel but is held back by Stedt- 
man) I knew it! I'm gonna kill you ! 

Jerry. No, you're not. (He says this with great 
authority and fixes Joe zvith his eyes until Joe stops his 
violent struggle) You're going to keep quiet. (Joe 
quiets dozvn completely, and Stedtman drops his arm) 
But you wanted the truth, and you've got it. I've 
known it all along. (To Clare) Now do you think I 
was lying ? 

(Stedtman pacifies Joe whom he takes r.) 

Clare. I don't know. I don't understand. 

Jerry. Oh, yes, you do — only you won't admit it! 

Clare. I suppose that's it. (She takes her scarf 
and starts wearily to exit.) 

Daniel. (Down) Clare! (She stops) I don't care 
what anyone believes but you ! 

Clare. (Turns) I'll believe you, Dan, if you'll only 
explain. 

Daniel. I 

Jerry. (Facing him) I forbid you to speak to my 
wife! 



72 THE FOOL 

Clare. Go on, Dan. 

Jerry. I forbid you to speak to my wife! 
Daniel. {Exploding — to Jerry) If I hadn't any- 
body to think about but you!!! 

{They stare at each other — close together. Suddenly 
Jerry lifts his open hand, and strikes Dan across 
the left cheek. Daniel instinctively clinches his 
fist and brings it into position to strike. Jerry 
takes the position of a boxer to defend himself. 
There is a tense moment. Clare is watching them. 
As he lifts his fist, Daniel sees Clare, and con- 
trols himself. Slowly his hand opens and drops to 
his side. As it begins to drop, Clare speaks.) 

Clare. {In almost speechless amazement) Dan, 
you're not going to take that? 

Daniel. I have nothing to say. 

(Jerry turns to Clare with a gesture that says "There 
you are! 3 ' and goes up.) 

Clare. I didn't think you were a coward. {In a dead 
tone) You see, I was wrong about everything. {The 
scarf in her hand, she exits l. A short pause. Suddenly, 
Joe emboldened by what he has witnessed, certain of 
Dan's cowardice, breaks from Stedtman and rushes 
at Gilchrist.) 

Joe. You'll play around my wife, will you ? (Daniel 
merely looks at him) You will — will you ? — {He strikes 
out. Daniel seises his wrist and zvith one powerful, 
dexterous movement, hurls him to the floor) Aah ! 

Stedtman. Gee! 

Daniel. {As Hennig struggles to his feet) I hope 
I didn't hurt you, Joe. 

Joe. {Close to Daniel, looking up into his face with 
intense hatred and defiance. This must be played with 
great sincerity not to get a laugh. Joe clasps his right 



ACT TWO 73 

wrist with his left hand. The right hand dangles use- 
less) Don't worry! I'll get you! (He walks slowly 
to the door r. still holding his wrist, and very sullen. 
At the door he turns. Quietly but with real menace) 
It may be a long time, but I'll get you! (Exit.) 

Daniel. (With great kindness) Take him home, 
Stedtman. (Jerks his head toward door.) 

Stedtman. Goodnight, Mr. Jerry. Tell your father 
we'll be around 

Daniel. Take him home, Stedtman!! 

Stedtman. (Speaking through Daniel's speech and 
backing quickly to the door) — in — the morning! 

(Quick exit. He closes the door, tvhich has been left 
open by Hen nig. The two men look at each other, 
Jerry goes to upper left of table, and pours him- 
self a drink.) 

Jerry. Well, you've made a nice mess of it ! Why 
can't you keep your nose out of other people's busi- 
ness? Why did you have to date my leaving Black 
River ? 

Daniel. (Down r.c.) Why did you have to get 
mixed up with Pearl Hennig? 

Jerry. / can take what I want out of life! 

Daniel. (Closes in to table — down stage r.) You 
can — (Nods) God says: "Here is the world. Take 
what you want— AND PAY FOR IT !" 

Jerry. Rubbish. (Drinks) Save your preaching 
for those that like it! (Comes down l. of table) And 
keep away from my wife ! 

Daniel. Why ? 

Jerry. Because you're in love with her ! And you've 
a hell of a nerve to preach to me about Hennig's wife 
while you're making a play for mine. 

Daniel. I'm not making a play for yours. 

Jerry. No? You expect me to believe — Then why 



74 THE FOOL 

did you pull that hero stuff? Why did you turn the 
other cheek? 

Daniel. (Quietly and very kindly) You wouldn't 
understand, Jerry. 

Jerry. Wouldn't I ? Well, you understand that I've 
forbidden you to speak to her and that goes. 

(Goodkind enters l. and stands in door.) 

If you come here again, I'll have the servants throw you 
out, and I'll tell my father why. 

Daniel. Here's your father now. 

Jerry. (He does not even turn to look at his father) 
And that's not all I'll do! (He says this in a lower 
voice, and then crosses Daniel to the door r., where he 
turns and says ery quietly and very pleasantly) Not 
by a damn sight ! (Exit r.) 

Goodkind. Hello, Dan! (He crosses above table.) 

Daniel. Good evening, Mr. Goodkind. 

Goodkind. (Offering humidor across upper r. end 
of table to Daniel, who takes a cigar. Humorously) 
Jerry doesn't like you much, does he? 

Daniel. (Cigar in his other hand; rubs spot zvhere 
Jerry struck him. Humorously) Not much. 

Goodkind. Well, never mind! How are things in 
Black River? 

Daniel. (Steps down r. front of chair r.) I think 
we've got everything settled. 

Goodkind. (Above table) Fine! Benfield'll be up 
in a minute, and we can talk over the conditions! 
Somehow, I knew you'd do it! Jerry says you're a 
philanthropist but I knew he was wrong! 

Daniel. (Lights cigar at chair r.) Thanks. 

Goodkind. If you've really settled this strike — our 
way — your salary from today is thirty thousand a year ! 

Daniel. Thanks — again. 



ACT TWO 75 

Goodkind. I'm dog-sick of rowing with labor! It's 
such utter damned waste! — Excuse me! 

Daniel. I agree with you! 

Goodkind. (Crosses back of table to l.) I'd hate to 
figure what "walk-outs" have cost this country ! 

Daniel. Yes. I often wonder why it wouldn't be 
cheaper to keep the men contented. 

Goodkind. (Goes around chair l.) How're you 
going to do it ? Don't forget there are as many people 
paid for stirring up strikes as for crushing 'em ! Paid 
well, too ! What the laboring man needs is a real inter- 
est in his job ! 

Daniel. (Sits l. end of bench) Why don't you 
give it to him? 

Goodkind. (Sits chair l.) How? By doubling his 
wages? The more most of 'em get the less they want 
to do for it ! You know that ! 

Daniel. Yes. 

Goodkind. They've got a notion that you get rich by 
riding around in a limousine! 

Daniel. Don't you? 

Goodkind. No, you don't. Indeed, you don't. Not 
unless you think while you ride or your father thought 
for you ! Even then, money doesn't stay long in bad 
company! To hear those fellows you'd think there 
tvasn't any work, except what's done with a pick ! The 
man that really produces is the man with the idea ! 

Daniel. The man that produces most. 

Goodkind. Yes, and he ought to get most ! 

Daniel. Well, he does ! 

Goodkind. He always will! Show me a big man 
and I'll show you somebody who's done a big job! It's 
the little man with no capacity and no chin that cries 
about a conspiracy to keep him from being President ! 

Daniel. There've got to be little men, too, Mr. 
Goodkind. 

Goodkind. And they've got to be satisfied with little 
rewards ! We can't all have the same bank-roll any 



76 THE FOOL 

more than we can all have the same health! That's 
where unions go wrong ! When you tell a man he's go- 
ing to have the same reward, whatever he does — not 
because he's got ability, but because he's got a union 
card — down goes the standard, out goes incentive, and 
— and — and to hell goes the whole social structure ! 

Daniel. Right ! 

Goodkind. That's why I'm fighting the unions! 
Not because I want to starve the man who works, but 
because I want to fire the man who doesn't — and re- 
ward the man who does ! I want to give every man a 
good reason for doing his best! And you can (Rises 
and crosses r.) talk equality and democracy all you 
like, Dan, but the minute the average man isn't afraid 
of being fired he isn't afraid of being worthless ! — The 
minute you take away incentive — the chance to get this 
— (Up, around to r. end of table on next line. Daniel 
turns) that minute you reduce the world to a common 
level of common indifference and common futility! 
(Finishes at a climax.) 

(Enter Benfield, l.) 

Daniel. Right ! 

Goodkind. Yes — Have another cigar! (Daniel 
shows the one he has just lighted, and shakes his head) 
Where the deuce is — (He sees Benfield standing in 
the door l.) Come in, Benfield! Gilchrist has settled 
the strike ! 

Benfield. Good! 

Daniel. (Rises. Giving a folded document to 
Goodkind, zvho comes dozvn r.c.) Now here are the 
terms. They may seem a little radical, but I think I 
can show you they'll save money in the end! (Good- 
kind crosses l. in front of Dan to chair l.) 

Goodkind. That's the idea! (With the papers in his 
hands, being opened, he feels confident and cocky. To 
Benfield, who, at l. of table, pours out drink) I told 



ACT TWO 77 

you I knew my man! The Lord knows he's full of 
theories, but sometimes they — (He starts to sit l. His 
eyes falls upon a disturbing line, and, with his knees 
already bent, he straightens up and remains standing) 
Wait a minute! What's this? 

(The humor of this depends upon the extent to which 
Goodkind gloats as he crosses the stage. The 
audience should be aware, all the way, of the jolt 
tliat is coming to him in a moment.) 

Benfield. What's what? 

Goodkind. (Reading) "Hereby agreed — the men 
are to be represented — on the board of directors " 

Benfield. (l. to Goodkind. Stunned) No!! 

Goodkind. Yes ! And — look here ! ! (Reading. 
Benfield down) "All disputes — referred — to a com- 
mittee of arbitration " 

Benfield. The man's gone crazy ! 

Daniel, (r.c. in front of table, almost r. end of 
bench) When you're through 

Goodkind. (Reading) "One half of all profits, over 
and above a fair dividend, to be divided pro rata, ac- 
cording to wage and length of service." Why — (Words 
fail) What is this? 

Benfield. (Up l.c.) Jerry told you; it's sur- 
render ! ! 

Daniel. No! No! It's justice! 

Goodkind. It's nothing! It's a scrap of paper un- 
til I sign it, and I wouldn't sign it if I had to shut up 
every mine in West Virginia! (Throws paper on table, 
and faces Daniel) Why should I? We've got 'em 
licked ! 

Daniel. If you'll only let me explain. 

Goodkind. (Down l., turns) Explain what? 
They're licked! They sent a delegation up here, and 
we've won over the delegation! 

Daniel. You mean you've bought me delegation! 



78 THE FOOL 

Goodkind. Who said so? 
Daniel. Jerry. 

(Goodkind and Benfield exchange glances of appre- 
hension.) 

Goodkind. Jerry? 

Daniel. Not ten minutes ago he referred to Stedt- 
man as the company detective. Hennig's for sale ! Buy 
him, and I'll go back and tell them he's bought, and 
prove it ! 

Benfield. (Down to Daniel) You're working for 
us! 

Daniel. I'm working for 

Goodkind. (Stops him and crosses to Daniel) 
Wait a minute, Benfield ! We've all lost our heads ! 
Daniel and I have just been over all this, and he ad- 
mitted I was right! 

Daniel. Right as far as you went, but you only 
went part way ! You have a right to a profit on your 
idea, and your investment and the labor you put back 
of it ! The public has a right to coal, and transporta- 
tion, and all it needs and pays for ! But, above every- 
thing else, the workman who works honestly, has a 
right to something more than the barest kind of a bare 
living — (Benfield up stage, with a grunt goes l. and 
up stage) and it can all be done if you don't sink 
everybody's rights to accumulate a fortune you don't 
need and can't use. — All the argument on earth can't 
make you all right so long as there's a single Umanski 
in the world ! 

{From here the scene should be fast, big melodrama. 
No pauses. Build to climax.) 

Goodkind. But if these people succeed there's no 
limit to what they'll do ! 



ACT TWO 79 

Daniel. If they fail there's no limit to what you'll 
do! 

Goodkind. (Down l.) There's no good transfer- 
ring control from the intelligent few to the ignorant 
mob! 

Daniel. (Up to r. end of table) There's no good 
in anything so long as we fight each other like beasts, 
(Objecting to the word, Goodkind turns and takes a 
quick step forward, which brings him to just below and 
R. of armchair l.) instead of helping each other like 
brothers ! There's no hope anywhere except in the 
Great Teacher, and the understanding that what He 
taught was not only good morals, but good sense and 
good business ! 

Benfield. Highfalutin nonsense ! (Up l.) 

Goodkind. (Crosses l.) Daniel doesn't realize what 
he's costing us ! 

Daniel. What ? 

Goodkind. Millions ! 

Daniel. Oh, is that all? 

Benfield. All? 

Daniel. (Upper r. end of table) Am I costing you 
one cigar? Am I costing you one blanket from your 
warm beds, or one stick of furniture from your com- 
fortable homes, or anything else, you'll ever miss? 
I'm taking nothing from you, and I'm giving thousands 
of men like you a chance to live ! 

Goodkind. (Up to l. end of table — downstage end) 
You're costing yourself your last chance of success! 

Daniel. I don't want your kind of success! I'm 
through ! I give you back your job, as I gave you back 
your church, and I give you twenty-four hours to sign 
that paper. 

Goodkind. (Indicating contract on table) If I do, 
you're finished! 

Daniel. I am when you've signed. (He goes R.) 

Goodkind. If you walk out of that door you're 
throwing away the chance of your life. 



80 THE FOOL 

Daniel. I'm keeping my soul ! (He opens the door.) 
Benfield. You Judas! (Comes down, violently 
throwing down cigar.) 

Daniel. Good-night. (Exit.) 

(Ring down curtain on this cue. Goodkind c. speaks 
the next line as the curtain is falling.y 

Goodkind. Damned fool! 

CURTAIN 



Curtain Calls: 

1. Daniel, Goodkind and Benfield. 

2. Clare, Daniel, Goodkind and Jerry. 

3. The same, with Stedtman and Hennig. 

4. Daniel and Umanski. 

5. Daniel and Clare. 

6. Daniel. 




c 



1C 



n 



uOi 



c 


Ul 

-1 


— 


c 




- 




Act Three 



Scene: "Overcoat Hall." New York. 

This room — not too large — was the "front 
parlor" of a comfortable residence in down-town 
New York. Business, of the least attractive sort, 
and the slums long since have occupied the dis- 
trict. The building is a red-brick, low-stoop, Eng- 
lish basement house. The rear wall, which is the 
front of the dwelling, is pierced by two lofty 
windows, through which is seen the top of an iron 
railing, and a rozv of similar structures, fallen into 
decay, across the street. Between these windows, 
upon a low marble shelf now holding a sugar-bowl 
and silver-plated knives and forks, originally was 
a tall, gold-framed mirror. The mirror zvas broken, 
long ago, and, in its frame, has been set a black- 
board upon which has been chalked: "And so, to 
the end of history, hate shall breed hate, murder 
shall breed murder, until the gods create a race 
that can understand." Beneath the right zvindow 
is a radiator. Downstage r. are double doors, the 
upstage one, open. Both doors open on stage. 
They lead to the main hall, and so to the basement 
or upstairs, or to the front door, zvhich slams 
solidly whenever it is closed. Belozv these doors 
hangs a folding hat-rack with umbrella clinging to 
one of the pegs. Left is a decrepit, white-marble 
mantel, with a fireplace. In front of this — in a 
jog, a small platform, of the kind used in public 
schools. Upon this, a small table and a chair. On 

82 



ACT THREE S3 

wall down L. another blackboard, upon which is the 
axiom : "Luck is work." On corner of jog liangs 
large calendar with "Wednesday" in big capitals. 
In the centre of the room is a kitchen table, with 
a brown cover, and with four kitchen chairs about 
it. In front of chairs and table is a bench. On the 
table a reading lamp, and numerous books and 
magazines. Gilchrist has succeeded in making 
the old place comfortable and inviting. It is a 
combination of club, settlement house, school, read- 
ing room and lecture hall. Brozvn cloth covers 
the floor, and there are green shades over 
the windows. An history chart hangs on the zvall. 
There are book-shelves, and two or three big, com- 
fortable chairs; a phonograph and, perhaps, even a 
motion picture machine. An armchair L.C.; an- 
other in front of fire. Bookcase up l. On top of 
bookcase a geographical globe, some books, jar of 
tobacco, ash receiver, matches, and pipes. Two 
brackets over mantel are alight. Chandelier c. 
from which descends a cord, lighted. 

The cord is attached to a battered table reading 
lamp, with a tin shade, and this lamp also is lighted. 
A red spot in the fireplace, focussed so that it will 
fall about underneath table when the table is over- 
turned at the end of the act. Mark a spot in the 
middle of this light on the ground cloth. That spot 
should be just r.c, and it is zvhere Gilchrist's 
head is to rest when he is knocked down at the end 
of the act. Caution everyone not to stand in the 
path of this light, as it is important that the spot 
shoidd shoiv this group at the end of the act. 

Time : It is just after seven o'clock on a brisk evening 
in late October, 1920. 

At Rise: Grubby, seated down stage of the centre 
table, is concealed behind a copy of The Woman's 



84 THE FOOL 

Home Companion, which he has opened wide, and 
holds in front of him. 

Mack, a shabby ne'er-do-well, between thirty 
and forty years old, opens the doors r. and peers 
in uncertainly. Reassured by the character of the 
room, he enters, and looks about him curiously. 
Even from the rear, it is evident that Grubby is a 
person of no authority so Mack dismisses him, 
temporarily, and warms his hands over the radiator. 
Next he inspects the quotation between the win- 
dows, pauses at the phonograph, and arrives in 
front of the platform l. The three words on this 
blackboard interest him. He reads them, turns 
away, turns back and reads them again. At last, 
he sniffs contemptuously, and completing his cir- 
cuit, stops on the left of Grubby. 

Mack. Hello — you! (Grubby lowers his paper, 
and reveals a sixty-year-old face, round, very red and 
framed in a scraggly gray beard) Is this Overcoat 
Hall? 

Grubby. Yes. (Resumes reading.) 

Mack. I'm looking for — (Has trouble remembering 
the name) Mr. Gilchrist. 

Grubby. (Over top of magazine) He ain't in, but 
he will be. 

Mack. Are you working here ? 

Grubby. (Surprised. Puts dotvn magazine) Work 
— ? No! 

Mack. Is anybody working here? 

Grubby. Mary Margaret. 

Mack. Who's she? 

Grubby. A girl. 

Mack. What girl? 

Grubby. The girl that cleans. A lame girl. Her 
mother's the janitor. Have a seat. Somebody'll be 
along in a minute. (As he resumes his magazine, never 



ACT THREE 85 

completely abandoned, Mack thrown upon his own re- 
sources, picks up one periodical after another, but for- 
tune docs not smile. They prove to be Atlantic 
Monthly — The Review of Reviews — The Scientific 
American.) 

Mack. (Has come to r. above table) What are you 
reading ? 

Grubby. A piece about "Better Babies." 

Mack. (Laughs. Dozvn r.) Are you going into 
the baby business? 

Grubby. No. I was a hansom driver. 

Mack. Handsome! (The laugh becomes uproari- 
ous.) 

Grubby. Ah — hacks ! I drove hacks — man and boy 
-^forty years. Then taxis come in, and I went out ! 

Mack. What'd you do then? 

Grubby. Took to drink. 

Mack. Yeh, and then drink when out. 

Grubby. What's your job? 

Mack. (Throws cap on table. Sits on chair r. of 
table on line with Grubby; puts feet on bench) Well, 
I was in the movies. That is, I was going to be, but 
the fellow that was going to put up the money, his 
mother didn't die, after all. — Before that, I sold bricks 
— a few weeks. I sold books, too, and Life Insurance. 
I never had any luck. (Remembers the blackboard, and 
glances at it contemptuously) Say, who wrote that, 
"Luck is Work?" 

Grubby. Mr. Gilchrist. 

Mack. Well, it isn't ! I've worked at fifty things, 
and look at me ! I figure the world owes me a living, 
and here I am, waiting for a bite of grub and an over- 
coat. (Feet off bench) Say, is it true the boss'll give 
you an overcoat? 

Grubby. He will if he's got one. 

Mack. That's what a fellow told me. He said that's 
why they call this Overcoat Hall. 

Grubby. Yes. 



86 THE FOOL 

Mack. (Leans forward) I suppose a hard-luck 
story's the proper spiel. 

Grubby. You don't get no chance for a spiel. He 
don't ask you nothing. You just come, and help your- 
self, and talk things over — if you want to. Coffee and 
sandwiches every night — and suppers and sermons on 
Wednesdays. 

(On "coffee and sandwiches every night, and suppers," 
Mack looks front with an ever-growing smile. On 
the word "sermons" his face falls comically.) 

Mack. (Rising) Preaching! (Looks at the wall 
pad, and reaches for his hat) Wednesday. I'll be back 
Thursday. (Starts r.) 

Grubby. No — no — no — not regular preaching ! Just 
talks ! 

Mack. Oh! 

Grubby. Sometimes they's a picture show, but the 
pictures is rotten! No shooting, or nothing! Still you 
can always sneak a little snooze 'til it comes to the 
hand-out. 

(Mack crosses l. below Grubby to fireplace. Mary 
Margaret enters through the open door r. Her 
two crutches arc rubber-tipped, so her invasion is 
noiseless. She occupies herself with sugar bowl 
on small table l. of blackboard up c. which she 
puts on table later. Mary Margaret is fifteen, 
and pathetically pretty. The conspicuous feature 
of her costume is a pair of soiled gold slippers 
that once set off a ball gown.) 

Mack. (Looking at blackboard l. Comes back on 
line with Grubby and l. of him) Don't he try to re- 
form you? 

Grubby. Naw! The way he talks, you'd think you 
was as good as him. He says to me, the other night, he 



ACT THREE 87 

says, "You're a good man, yet, Grubby," he says, 
"You're strong and healthy," he says, "and, if you 
learned to drive a taxi, all the best people in New York 
would be a telephoning for your cab. I'll lend you the 
money," he says. {With comic fright at his narrow es- 
cape) Gee; he almost had me started! 

Mack. What's the catch ? 

Grubby. I don't know. 

Mack. There must be graft in it somewhere. 

Grubby. If you ask me, I think the poor gent's got 
a few nuts in his nose-bag. A little bit batty. That's 
what / say! 

Mary Margaret. {Comes down to r. upper end of 
table, bringing sugar bowl, and knives and forks. Dur- 
ing this conversation, she puts the sugar bowl l. of 
table. Arranges magazines and arranges desk lamp so 
that the cord will not conceal her face when she sits 
back of the table later with Gilchrist) And that's 
what you got no right to say, Grubby. 

Grubby. {To Mack) Mary Margaret. 

Mary Margaret. He's been good to you, ain't he? 

Grubby. That's why we think he's batty. What's 
he do it for? 

Mary Margaret. 'Cause he loves you. {Above 
table.) 

Grubby. What for? 

Mary Margaret. God Knows! {This is broad 
comedy. To humor the laugh, Mack laughs uproari- 
ously and strikes Grubby on the shoulder. Grubby 
reaches for him viciously with his foot. Mack runs 
away.) After seven o'clock now, and the meeting in 
half an hour, and he ain't had a bite since morning ! 

Mack. (l. of table) Where is he? 

Mary Margaret. He went to see a man that killed 
himself. (Mack laughs) I mean — tried to. It was in 
the papers this afternoon, and Mr. Gilchrist says: "I 
want to talk to that man." (Mack's interposition has 
brought his words to her mind, and reflecting on them, 



88 THE FOOL 

she explodes) Graft! Why he didn't have the rent 
money yesterday, and he was desprit ! He ain't had 
money to get himself a pair of shoes, and nobody helps 
him, or comes near him, 'cept you bums that roast him 
behind his back ! 

(Goodkind appears in the doorway r.) 

Grubby. I didn't roast him. I just said he was crazy. 

Goodkind. {Crisply) Mr. Gilchrist? 

Mary Margaret. He'll be here any minute. Won't 
you come in ? 

Goodkind. Thanks. {He conies forward a few 
steps, down r. and looks at Grubby, who after an in- 
stant, takes refuge behind his Home Journal. Good- 
kind turns upstage to r. of and on a line with Mary 
Margaret.) 

Mary Margaret. {Offering a periodical to Good- 
kind) Take a magazine, and sit down, {With a nod, 
he accepts, and crosses above her, inspecting black- 
board, etc. on his way l.) I got to make the coffee. 
{To Grubby) You can come and carry it up in about 
fifteen minutes, Grubby. {She turns and catches Mack 
filching a handful of sugar) Graft ! — Well, you ought 
to know! {She exits R. singing "I'm a Pilgrim." By 
now Goodkind is reading in a big chair l. Mack steps 
down and talks over l. corner of table to Grubby.) 

Mack. Think she'll tell him? 

Grubby. Naw ! Anyway, he don't care ! He says 
we're all brothers in God ! 

Mack. Gee ! 

Grubby. That's what he told Jimmie Curran — 
brothers in God — and Jimmie just up for pinchin' a 
guy's pants. Jimmie lives across from his room up- 
stairs, and Jimmie says he's clean loco. Guess what 
he's got in the back yard? 

Mack. What? 

Grubby. Tennis. And handball games for children. 



ACT THREE 89 

And, in the other two houses, he's got flats — with bath- 
tubs — (Grubby faces front, repeats the word "bath- 
tubs!" with horror, shivering and gathering his coat 
about him. Then continues) and the rents ain't what 
they ask now for stalling a horse. Why shouldn't I 
say he was crazy? Everybody says so but Mary 
Margaret. 

(Daniel enters R. He is shabby, but beaming. He re- 
moves his overcoat and hangs it over an old um- 
brella already suspended from a wall-rack down 
stage of the door.) 

Daniel. Hello, Grubby! (Grubby rises and steps 
down to screen Goodkind from Dan. Mack down also 
betzveen Goodkind and Dan) You're early! And 
you've brought a friend! That's fine! (He shakes 
hands with Mack) You're very welcome ! (Goodkind 
rises. Grubby and Mack get out of the way, so Daniel 
can see Goodkind. Grubby goes up about c. of table. 
Mack on his left. Daniel goes to Goodkind l.) And 
Mr. Goodkind ! Well ! You're welcome, too ! (Shakes 
hands) Have you come down to look us over? 

Goodkind. (His eyes indicating the others) I've 
come down on personal business. (Goodkind takes 
step l., giving Dan chance to dismiss others.) 

Daniel. Oh, yes ! (Just turns head upstage from c. 
of table and below it) Grubby, there's a box of books 
in the hall. How would you and your friend like to 

Grubby. I promised to help with the coffee. 
(Scampers off r.) 

Daniel. I see. (To Mack: zvho has been stealing 
surreptitious glances at the overcoat) And you? 

Mack. (Down l. of Daniel) I just wanted to 
speak to you a minute. 

Daniel. All right. After the meeting. 

Mack. I wanted to ask you 

Daniel. (Puts him r.c.) After the meeting! 



90 THE FOOL 

(Crosses with Mack a little r. of chair and sits in chair 
r. of table. This chair has been placed by Mack in 
earlier scene with Grubby. To Goodkind) Sit down! 
Goodkind. (Sitting on bench) Thanks! 

(Mack — resentful, unobserved, uncertain of getting 
the coat honestly — is sorely tempted. One pull, 
one step, and he is safe from work and denial. 
During the follozving, standing almost in the door- 
way, he reaches for the coat.) 

Daniel. (Sits in chair r.c. To Goodkind) I'm 
glad you dropped in tonight, because I've been intending 
to call on you, but there's so much to do here — (The 
coat comes off the rack, and with it the umbrella, which 
falls with a crash. Daniel rises, discovering Mack, 
coat held behind him, in doorway) Hello! I thought 
you'd gone. 

Mack. No; I — I — wanted 

Daniel. You wanted my coat. 

Mack. (Advancing with a glad smile oj pretended 
relief that Daniel has found the simple explanation) 
Yes — that's what I wanted to ask you. 

Daniel, (r. of chair r.c.) I'm so glad you said so. 
(Mack shows surprise) Because if you hadn't, and I 
hadn't understood, you might have been tempted to 
take it without asking — (Mack shakes his head violent- 
ly) and then you'd been so sorry and ashamed. (Mack 
nods his head) A man couldn't come into another man's 
house, and be welcomed, and then take the other man's 
coat, without losing his self-respect — could he ? (Mack 
shakes his head, ahvays agreeing with Daniel) And, 
of course, if we're going to pull ourselves together, and 
get out of a hole, we must keep our self-respect. 

Mack. (Hands back coat) I wouldn't steal any- 
thing. 

Daniel. You couldn't — it's your coat. (Assists him 
into coat) You asked for it, and I gave it to you. — 



ACT THREE 91 

When you've worn it — into a good jot) — come back and 
help me give another to someone who needs it as you do. 

Mack. I will. 

Daniel. Of course, you will. (Slaps his back, and 
shakes hands zuarmly) Goodnight. 

Mack. Goodnight. 

(Daniel crosses Mack to r. and picks up umbrella, 
putting it back on rack. Mack goes up to the door, 
turns, looks at Daniel's back, and then catches 
Goodkind's eye. Pats his forehead, makes a ges- 
ture expressing "zvhecls" and, jumping through the 
door, exits. Goodkind has zvatchcd all this.) 

Goodkind. Well, I'll be damned! (Daniel laughs) 
He won't come back ! Not one in ten would come back ! 

Daniel. (Going to him r. of bench) All right! 
— That coat cost twenty dollars. If one in ten does 
come back, we've made a man for two hundred dollars. 
Isn't it worth the price? 

Goodkind. Maybe — if a man's got the price. Have 
you? 

Daniel. (Sits in chair r.c) Like our friend here, 
that's what I wanted to ask you. I'm rather badly in 
need of money, and my father 

Goodkind. Your father understood you well enough 
to leave you only an income. I foolishly turned over 
some of the principal and, in two months, you threw 
away thirty thousand dollars. You, could have had a big 
salary, and you threw that away. You're an utter 
-T Goodkind. Or three times — or a dozen ! He knows \) 
damned waster — (Rises) if you're no worse! (To 

L.C.) 

Daniel. What do you mean — worse? 
Goodkind. You'll soon find out what I mean ! 
.. You've had my son's wife down here, haven't you? 
^Daniel. Once or twice. 
Daniel. I've asked her not to come again. 



92 THE FOOL 

Goodkind. Yes, and he's asked her — but she's com- 
ing when she likes. She says so. Because she's in love 
with you — God knows what women see in your kind of 
man! There was Pearl Hennig 

Daniel. Please ! 

Goodkind. Oh, my son told me! And I hear — in 
the neighborhood — that you've worse women than that 
running here ! Women of the streets ! 

Daniel. Not many. They're welcome, but they 
don't come. 

Goodkind. Well, that's your business ! And if your 
neighbors get sick of having a resort of this kind in 
their midst, and drive you out, that's your business ! 
But my son's wife 

Daniel. (Rising) Is her business. 

Goodkind. And his ! Only Jerry's in no condition 
to settle the matter ! He's broken down from worry 
and overwork, and you're partly responsible, and that 
puts it up to me ! You can take this as a final warning ! 
If you see Clare again, I'll act, and I'll act quick! 
That's all! Goodnight! (Crosses in front of Dan to 
the door r.) 

Daniel. (Waking from a reverie, and turning r.) 
Oh! Mr. Goodkind! 

Goodkind. (Expecting capitulation, r.c. upstage) 
Yes? 

Daniel. How about the money? 

Goodkind. (Coming down r. of Daniel and on 
line with him) You've had what's coming to you ! 

Daniel. But that's nothing! I pay half that for 
these crazy houses ! And I've got terribly in debt fitting 
them up ! 

Goodkind. With bathrooms and tennis courts ! 

Daniel. People must have baths. 

Goodkind. These dirty immigrants! 

Daniel. The dirtier they are, the worse they need 
'em. 

Goodkind. (Shocked) Ugh ! 



ACT THREE 93 

Daniel. I want to show them how to live, and I 
want to show other people — you needn't make a pig- 
pen to make a profit. 

Goodkind. Are you making a profit? 

Daniel. Enormous ! And to go on, I've got to 
have twenty-two thousand dollars. 

Goodkind. Oh, is that all? Twenty-two thousand 
dollars to go on making a fool of yourself ! Well, you 
won't get it ! 

Daniel. Not even as an advance? 

Goodkind. Not a penny ! 

Daniel. Don't force me to 

Goodkind. To what? 

Daniel. (Rather at a loss) To ask for an ac- 
counting ! 

Goodkind. (Comes toward him, hardly knowing 
and believing his own ears) To ask for — WHAT? 
(This is the last straw) Now you listen to me! I've 
stood all I'm going to stand! You've run amuck! 
You've become dangerous to yourself ! — and — me — and 
the neighborhood ! You're going to stop it, and you're 
going to stop it now ! 

Daniel. That's your mistake. 

Goodkind. Is it? A year ago you gave me twenty- 
four hours to sign a paper. I did it, and it cost me two 
million dollars ! Tonight I give you thirty minutes to 
shut up this' place, and quit seeing my daughter, and 
if you won't do it 

Daniel. As I won't! 

Doodkind. I'll be here inside a half an hour with 
a doctor ! 

Daniel. And then? 

Goodkind. Then we'll file a petition to have you 
declared incompetent ! (He starts R.) 

Daniel. Mr. Goodkind, you don't mean that ! You 
don't mean that because I'm trying to help 

Goodkind. (Turns back) Help — whom? Strikers, 
and street women, and general riff-raff ! And you don't 



94 THE FOOL 

even help them — because nobody can! And, if you 
could, and did, how in the name of God would that 
help the community? If I find you're still crazy in 
half an hour, I'll say you're crazy, and I'll prove it! 
(Daniel goes up l. to bookcase to fill pipe) Think it 
over! 

(As he is about to exit, he narrowly escapes collision 
with Umanski, neatly dressed and capable-look- 
ing, who apologises, in nearly correct English, and 
with a resentful glance, crosses to up c. Daniel 
fills his pipe at bookcase.) 

Umanski. Excuse! (Crosses up c.) 

Goodkind. Wait a minute. (He follows the man 
a step on stage) Haven't I seen you somewhere be- 
fore? 

Umanski. Yes, sir. My name's Umanski. 

Goodkind. Umanski? (He remembers) You're 
not the Pole who came to my house that night with a 
delegation ? 

Umanski. (At upper r. corner of table) Yes. 
Mr. Gilchrist tell me stay in New York. He's teach 
me English, and find me good job. I'm work now eight 
hours on the docks, and six on myself. 

Goodkind. (At door) Well, I'm damned 

Daniel. Mr. Goodkind ! ( Goodkind turns) 
Umanski's got an invention. If you'll see it 

Goodkind. I'll see you in (Is going to say 

"Hell," but alters tone and says) half an hour! 
(Exit.) 

Umanski. (Doivn r. to lotver r. corner table) 
What's he doing down here, Mr. Gilchrist? 

Daniel. {Sits l. of table, on chair facing Uman- 
ski) He says I'm crazy, and he's going to shut up 
this place. Of course, he won't. (He opens a book 
which he carries in his pocket.) 

Umanski. Don't be too sure. 



ACT THREE 9i> 

Daniel. Nonsense! I made him angry. (He 
marks a passage) And somebody's told him a lot of 
lies! 

Umanski. Somebody's told a good many people 
lies! (Across table) Yesterday I heard a man say 
you run this house — to — (He hesitates. Daniel looks 
up ) to get women ! 

Daniel. Who said that? 

Umanski. A wop named Malduca. 

Daniel. Oh, yes ! I remember. I took his daughter 
in here once — for a week — until he got sober. 

Umanski. They's a good many like that. 

Daniel. Oh, not a good many ! 

Umanski. Enough to make trouble. Why not you 
carry a pistol ? 

Daniel. It's generally men that carry pistols who 
get shot. 

Umanski. (Across table) One of them fellows 
get you — and then 

Mary Margaret. (Off stage) Now don't spill the 
coffee. 

Grubby. (Offstage) Narry a drop. 

Daniel. (Warning him) Sh! (Umanski crosses 
below table to l. of Daniel.) 

Mary Margaret. (Entering and going to l. upper 
comer of table. To Dan) I s'pose you ain't had any 
supper ? 

Daniel. Not yet. 

(Grubby enters and crosses to back of table r. of Mary 
Margaret, with a tray having lamb chop, milk, 
coffee, etc., which Mary Margaret transfers to 
Daniel's end of the table.) 

Umanski. (l. of Dan) I brought you some 
money. 
Daniel. Money? 
Umanski. My boss he give me another raise. He 



96 THE FOOL 

gonna make me boss after while. So I thought I be- 
gin to pay back what you lend me. (Takes out bills.) 

Daniel. Wait 'till you've sent for your family. 

Umanski. I'm gonna send now. My big boy I'm 
gonna send school — college, maybe. (Hands him 
money) You know that pump I make, she goes fine. 
I show my boss — like you say — because he know about 
coal mines — and he say if she work she save whole lots 
of lives and money. She work, all right! (He has 
brought forth an English grammar) How about I go 
upstairs and study ? 

Daniel. Sure! Go right up to my room! I'll be 
along after the meeting ! 

(Grubby has started to door r. Umanski now starts 
to cross above table toward r. Daniel sees 
Grubby.) 

Where are you going, Grubby? 

Grubby. Sandwiches ! 

Umanski. Oh, sandwiches! (He slaps Grubby 
on the back shooting him thru the door r. and follows 
him laughing. Exeunt Grubby and Umanski.) 

Mary Margaret. (Down l. a little below Dan) 
Your supper's ready ! 

Daniel. Thanks. (A moment's pause. Mary 
Margaret, disappointed that Daniel is reading and 
does not look at her, taps with her crutch on the floor to 
attract attention. Daniel still does not turn. She taps 
again. Daniel turns. With her crutch she points at 
her slippers. Daniel looks down) What's this we're 
wearing? Golden slippers? 

Mary Margaret. Uh-huh! I took 'em out of the 
barrel of clothes that pretty lady sent. 

Daniel. (Rises, comes dozvnstage a step, and looks 
at the slippers with mock wonder. Then, pretending 
to be the Fairy Prince, he zvalks up between Mary 
Margaret and the table to behind chair above and l. 



ACT THREE 97 

of table, and places it for Mary Margaret. Then 
makes a sweeping gesture indicating that she should 
be seated.) Supper with Cinderella! 

Mary Margaret. Gee, I love that story! (Crosses 
to chair. She sits above him, facing front) When you 
tell it to me, you make me believe I'm her. 

Daniel. (Sits l. of table) If you believe it — you 
are. 

Mary Margaret. I guess believin' ain't never goin' 
to make me dance. 

Daniel. (Stirs his coffee) You can't tell — if you 
believe hard enough. 

Mary Margaret. That's what you said before, 
and I've tried, but somehow it don't work. 

Daniel. That's the very time to go on. If we stop, 
just because it don't work, that isn't faith. 

Mary Margaret. No ; I s'pose not. 

Daniel. And faith moves mountains. Once upon a 
time — (He drinks his coffee. At "once upon a time," 
Mary Margaret draws her chair nearer to the table 
in delight at the prospect of hearing a story. Daniel 
looks at her, puts down his coffee cup, smiles, and goes 
on) Once upon a time, there was a woman who'd been 
sick twelve years. 

Mary. What was the matter with her ? 

Daniel. (Looks front and laughs at his inability 
to answer the question) I don't know. (Turns to her 
again) But there was a Man in that city who said He 
could even make the dead rise. And everybody laughed 
at Him just as they would today. But the woman didn't 
laugh, and one morning, when He was passing her 
house, she got up and followed Him — just to touch the 
hem of His cloak. And what do you think? 

Mary Margaret. I dunno. 

Daniel. She was cured. And the Man said 

Mary Margaret. Oh — now I know. "Thy faith 
hath made thee whole." 

Daniel. That's right. 



98 THE FOOL 

Mary Margaret. Could God do that for me ? 

Daniel. Why not ? 

Mary Margaret. It would be an awful big favor. 

Daniel. But if he doesn't, you must go on. If faith 
doesn't heal our hurts, it helps us to bear them. And 
that's almost the same thing, isn't it? 

Mary Margaret. (Doubtfully turns head away. 
Tear in voice) Yes. 

Daniel. (Plays with her curls) Like believing 
you're Cinderella. 

Mary Margaret. (Smiles at him through her tears) 
Yes. 

Daniel. We can't decide what we want, and then 
be angry and doubtful just because it doesn't happen 
our way. Because all the time it's happening His way. 
The only thing we can be sure of is He knows what's 
best. 

Mary Margaret. That's right. (Pause) You mean, 
if God wants me to be well, some day He'll make me 
well? 

Daniel. If you believe hard enough. 

Mary Margaret. And if He don't? 

Daniel. Then that's right — if you believe hard 
enough. 

Mary Margaret. I will, Mr. Gilchrist. (She rises) 
Oh, you ain't touched your supper. 

Daniel. (Pushes back tray) I've had plenty. 

Mary Margaret. I'll send Grubby up for the tray. 

(She exits. Daniel finishes, and puts up his napkin. 
He observes that the window-shades have not been 
drawn. Goes tip, lighting his pipe, and is about to 
draw shade. Facing r. with his hand on the shade 
of the window l. he pauses to look out. Pearl 
Hennig enters. Pearl is 25, and her clothes are 
cheaply flashy. An experienced eye should lose no 
time in appraising her. She Jias an air of alarm. 



ACT THREE 99 

She looks round for Dan, and then isn't quite sure 
of him in the shadow upstage.) 

Pearl. (At door. Uncertainly) Mr. Gilchrist? 
(He half turns and she sees him) Mr. Gilchrist! — 
Don't stand by that window. (Closes door.) 

Daniel. Hello, Pearl! (He draws the shade) How 
well you're looking. (Comes down l.) What's the 
matter with the window? 

Pearl. It ain't safe. (Goes up to window r. Pulls 
down that shade.) 

Daniel. (Smiling) Are you going to advise me to 
carry a pistol? 

Pearl. No. Just to keep out o' sight of people who 
do. 

Daniel. Meaning? 

Pearl. Meaning Joe Hennig. 

Daniel. (Dozvn l. of table) I thought Joe was in 
Black River. 

Pearl. (Down r.) Well, he ain't. I told you he 
was ashamed to go home. I told you he was gonna stay 
here an' get you ! 

Daniel. (Sits on bench in front of table) Well? 

Pearl. (Over to r. of table) Well — he stayed. I 
went to him — like I told you — an' said it wasn't you — 
and 'ast him to take me back. An' he said I lied an' he 
was gonna get you. I told you all that ! 

Daniel. Yes ; I guess you did. 

Pearl. While he was workin' up town I didn't hear 
nothin' about him. But a little while ago he lost his job, 
and began hangin' aroun' down here. An' he's been 
drinkin', an' talkin' wild, an' I come in to tell you. 

Daniel. That's kind of you, Pearl, but I'm not 
afraid of Joe. 

Pearl. Well — I am. He's got his gang — / knozv. 

Daniel. Hozv do you know? 

Pearl. (Hesitates) Well, last night I met up with 
one of his pals — An' he'd been drinkin' an' he said Joe 



100 THE FOOL 

said you was livin' on women an' this place was a blind, 
an' nobody's wife was safe while you was in the 
neighborhood. An' this man said they was gonna get 
together, an' drive you out. (He smiles) I tell you 
they're dangerous, Mr. Gilchrist. For God's sake, be- 
lieve me ! For God's sake, telephone the police ! 

Daniel. There's no telephone here, Pearl. But 
there's always an officer at hand, and I'm among friends. 
Don't worry. Sit down and wait for the meeting. 
(She turns away) Sit down. (She sits) That's right. 
I haven't seen you in ages. 

Pearl. (Restless) Two weeks. 

Daniel. What are you doing? 

Pearl. I'm working — at Macy's. 

Daniel. Like it? 

Pearl. (Defiantly) Better than bein' with Joe. 

Daniel. If you'd stayed — with Joe, maybe ht 
wouldn't be drinking. 

Pearl. He always did. That's why I ast you to 
stick around in Black River. That's one reason I quit. 

Daniel. One reason? 

Pearl. (Admitting it grudgingly) Well — there was 
others — I wanted good clothes, an' a good time — jus' 
like other women. 

Daniel. (Thinking of Clare) Yes — like other 
women. 

Pearl. (Indicating her costume) An' I got 'em! 

Daniel. Yes ; you've got 'em. But don't you think 
sometime — you and the other women — that they cost 
you too much? 

Pearl. I don't get you. 

Daniel. I only mean isn't there something worth 
more than good clothes and a good time ? A good home, 
maybe, with love in it — and little children. 

Pearl. (Hesitates, and cannot meet his eyes) Oh — 
we oughtn't to be talkin' here. (Rises and goes up to 
windozv r. Peeps out.) 

Daniel. Why not? 



ACT THREE 101 

Pearl. I'm frightened of Joe. 

Daniel. You needn't be. 

Pearl. I am. I can't help it. I got a hunch. I ain't 
told you all this man said, an' I ain't told you how he 
come to say it, but he said it was gonna be soon, an' I 
got a hunch sumpin's gonna happen tonight. Please let 
me go out an' phone ! Please let me get the police ! 
(Down. Daniel laughs) You're crazy, Mr. Gilchrist! 
(An infinitesimal pause) An' I'm goin'! 

(As she turns to go, the door opens before her, and ad- 
mits Clare Jewett. Clare is smartly gowned, in 
street attire, but somchozv she has the appearance 
of being disheveled — of having dressed in haste.) 

Daniel. (Rising) Clare — Mrs. Goodkind! (A 
pause) Mrs. Hennig's just going. 

Clare. (Comes on stage) Mrs. Hennig? 

Daniel. Pearl Hennig. You've heard your husband 
mention her name. 

Pearl. (Up stage of Clare r.c.) I know your hus- 
band. 

Clare. I know you do. (Her tone tells how much 
she knows.) 

Pearl. (Quails) I guess you ain't got much use 
for me. 

Clare. Why? What's the difference between us? 

Pearl. (Unable to make it out) Well! (Crosses 
back of Clare to door) Goodnight. 

(Clare goes to Daniel r.c. Pearl exits.) 

Daniel. (Cheerfully) Goodnight, Pearl. (Differ- 
ent tone) Clare, I asked you not to come here. 
Clare. I'd nowhere else to go. I've left him. 
Daniel. Left — Jerry ? 
Clare. For good. He struck me. 
Daniel. No ! ! 



102 THE FOOL 

Clare. Yes ! And he's lying now — brandy-soaked 
and half-conscious — across the foot of my bed! 

Daniel. I can't — believe 

Clare. He's been drinking — more and more ! And, 
of course, there've been women — oh, from the begin- 
ning! Do you remember — in your church — a Mrs. 
Thornbury? He's been quite open about her! Tonight 
we were going out to dinner. He came to my room — 
drunk — and babbled that he'd refused to go until she 
was invited ! Then / refused to go — and he accused me 
— of you — and struck me with his fist ! 

Daniel. He accused — you? 

Clare. Yes, and then he tried to take me in his arms ! 
And I said once there was nothing more degrading than 
poverty. In the past two years I've learned what de- 
gradation means ! I've come to realize that the material 
things are nothing, and that love is all ! It isn't too late ? 

Daniel. It's never too late! 

Clare. I knew you'd say that ! I'll share your work 
— your want — if need be— -gladly ! Only take me away ! 
{Goes to him c.) 

Daniel. Clare ! 

Clare. Don't you understand that I'm offering my- 
self to you? 

Daniel. Yes; I understand. 

Clare. {Hands on his shoulders) I love you! I 
need you ! This is our last chance for happiness ! I've 
been blind, and stupid, but it isn't too late! Take me, 
and hold me, and we'll both forget! 

Daniel. Forget? 

Clare. Forget everything. Won't you take me, 
dear? 

{His hands, in his desire to clasp her, play a tragic part. 
He controls himself to the last.) 

Daniel. No! 

Clare. Don't you want me? 



ACT THREE 103 

Daniel. No! (Pause.) 

Clare. That's not true ! You love me ! You've al- 
ways loved me. Look at me, and deny it if you can ! 

Daniel. I don't deny it ! I love you ! (For the mo- 
ment, he has lost control of himself. The audience 
must believe that lie is about to clasp Clare. His arms 
go up to her shoulders, and, with the next two words, 
caress her arms, moving in the direction of her hands, 
which are on his shoulders) I love — (His hands have 
touched her, and brought him to a sense of his danger. 
Resolutely, he takes hold of her hands, removes them 
from his shoulders, and puts her away from him, fin- 
ishing his sentence in a totally different tone — absolutely 
master of himself) I love the good in you — the good 
you're trying so hard to kill ! I love you because you're 
strong enough to do what's right ! 

Clare. What is right ? (Puzzled and beginning to be 
angry. "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned/') 

Daniel. Go back to your husband. 

Clare. I'd rather die. 

Daniel. I'd rather you died — than this ! 

Clare. (Furiously) Oh, you fanatic! You blind 
fanatic! (Crosses R.) 

Daniel. I love you ! (Takes a step tozvard her.) 

Clare. Love ! You don't know what love means ! 
You're only half a man ! 

Daniel. And I'm praying to God, with all my 
strength, to save us from the other half. 

Clare. For what? 

Daniel. For you 

(Off r. very softly, as she goes down the hall, Mary 
Margaret is heard singing "I'm a Pilgrim; I'm a 
Stranger") 

and him — and for my people. For the little girl 
out there. 



104 THE FOOL 

Clare. And for them you'd send me back to de- 
gradation ? 

Daniel. That little girl's known degradation that 
you and I will never know. And she's singing. Her 
constant companions are poverty and pain — and she's 
singing. She's crippled. She may never walk again. 
And still she can say God's will be done. She believes 
in me. I can't disappoint her, and the rest. I'm going 
on with my job, and you're going back to yours ! 

Clare. You mean to Jerry? 

Daniel. Yes. 

Clare. {Goes to him) You think that's God's will? 

Daniel. I know it's your job. You took it with your 
eyes open. It's up to you to see it through. 

Clare. Must I go on forever paying for one mistake ? 

Daniel. Somebody must pay for our mistakes. 
That it was wrong to make a bargain doesn't make it 
right to break the bargain when we get tired of it. 

Clare. (Crosses l.c.) I don't know what to do. 

Daniel. (Follows her to l.) Play the game. Go 
back to that poor, mistaken man lying across the foot 
of your bed — his mind going and his health gone. Bear 
your punishment and help him to bear his. That's your 
duty! 

Clare. (Her back is toward him) Duty! Duty!! 
Duty ! ! ! What about happiness ? 

Daniel. There is no other happiness. (She looks 
up at him) Oh, don't you see, my dear, that's been 
your great mistake? You're always crying — you and 
the world — "I want to be happy !" Happiness is service ! 
Happiness is clean-living, and clear-thinking, and self- 
forgetfulness, and self-respect! 

Clare. (Looking front) And love? 

Daniel. Love? — Love isn't all. (She turns) Not 
the love you mean. You said : "Take me and we'll both 
forget." Could we have forgotten promises unkept, 
faith disappointed, aspirations unrealized? No, my 
dear, love isn't all ; nor even happiness. There's some- 



ACT THREE 105 

thing bigger, and better, and more important, and that 
something is — DUTY ! 

Clare. The world doesn't think that ! 

Daniel. That's what's wrong with the world! {A 
pause.) 

Clare. Do you want me to go back? 

Daniel. I want you to be right ! 

Clare. Well then — I'm going through. I'm going 
back and play the game — with you in my heart always. 
You don't forbid that, do you? 

Daniel. You are in mine always. 

Clare. And this isn't goodbye. Sometime — some- 
where — in this world, or out of it — there must be a mo- 
ment — and a place — to retrieve mistakes — {Crosses r. 
to door.) 

Daniel. Clare — {Stops her. Crosses to her and ex- 
tends hands) Goodnight. {She takes his hands.) 

Clare. Goodnight. 

{She exits. The outer door slams. Then a cab door — 
faintly. He thinks — tired with the effort of re- 
ununciation. Then he comes down, slowly, and 
drops on the r. end of the bench in front of the 
table. Mary Margaret enters, singing "I'm a 
Pilgrim." She is down r. when she sees Daniel.) 

Mary Margaret. Ain't you well, Mr. Gilchrist ? 

Daniel. Just tired. 

Mary Margaret. Maybe you ain't believin' hard 
enough. {He looks up, puts hand on her shoulder, pats 
her and crosses l. Mary Margaret goes up around 
table to l. and stands back of it) It's most time for the 
meeting. 

(Grubby enters with a tray.) 

Grubby. I brung the sandwiches. {Places tray on 
table l. of blackboard c.) 



106 THE FOOL 

Mary Margaret. Where's the coffee? 

(Mrs. Mulligan enters. She is the worse for liquor 
and glad of a warm place to enjoy it. She slinks 
in rather furtively, and sits r. end of table. She 
is follozved by Mr. and Mrs. Henchley. Mr. 
Henchley may be cut out if desired. He is 
a middle-aged and respectable locksmith. She is 
larger than he, and somewhat formidable. Grubby 
removes supper tray, lays tray on phonograph top.) 

Good evening, Mrs. Mulligan. 

Mrs. Mulligan. (With a hiccough) It is not! 

Grubby. (Down l. of Mary Margaret. Aside to 
her) Bums — like that — ain't got no business here. 

Mr. Henchley. (r.) Good evening, Mary- 
Margaret. (She nods.) 

Mary Margaret. Good evening, Mr. Henchley. 

Mrs. Henchley. (Shakes hands with Daniel) 
Good evening, Mr. Gilchrist. 

Daniel, (c.) Good evening, Mrs. Henchley, and 
welcome. 

Mr. Henchley. (Gets r. of Mrs. Henchley. To 
Daniel) I guess we're early. 

Mrs. Henchley. (Confidentially. To Daniel) 
Yes, I wanted to speak to you — about his pants. 

Daniel. Pants ? Whose pants ? 

Mrs. Henchley. Mr. Henchley 's pants. I took out 
a spot with gasoline and hung 'em out on the fire-escape 
to dry. When I went to look for them they was gone. 
I think you ought to look into your lodgers. 

(Mr. Henchley pulls his wife's shawl. Mrs. Hench- 
ley sits l. end of bench, with back to audience, 
Mr. Henchley r. end.) 

Daniel. We'll talk about them later. 



ACT THREE 107 

(Enter Miss Levinson. She is a Jewess — a garment 
worker — thoughtful, studious, spectacled.) 

Miss Levinson. Good evening, everybody. (Crosses 
to Daniel in front of table.) 

Daniel. Good evening, Miss Levinson. (The others, 
too, acknowledge the greeting.) 

Miss Levinson. I've brought back your book. 

(Daniel takes book. Miss Levinson turns l. to go. 
Mrs. Henchley stops her by taking hold of her 
arm.) 

Mrs. Henchley. What've you been reading? 

Miss Levinson. George Bernard Shaw. 

Mrs. Henchley. I suppose you ain't read "The 
Sheick." 

Miss Levinson. (With justifiable pride) I've been 
reading "Caesar and Cleopatra." 

(Miss Levinson goes around l. end of table upstage, 
gets a camp stool, comes dozvn, and places it at the 
u.r. corner of table. The positions are now as fol- 
lows: Mrs. Mulligan r. of tabic. Then Miss 
Levinson on the camp stool. Then Mary 
Margaret r. above table, and Grubby l. above 
table. Daniel stands at l. of table. In front of 
table, with backs to the audience, on the bench, 
Mrs. Henchley l. and Mr. Henchley r.) 

Daniel. We've been reading Shaw together. 

Pearl. (Enters r., agitatedly, throwing open upper 
half of door) Mr. Gilchrist ! (Holds r.c.) 

Daniel. (Down from chair l. end table c. facing r.) 
Oh, Pearl — I thought you'd gone. 

Pearl. No. I've been watchin' and I've got to speak 
to you — quick! 



108 THE FOOL 

Gilchrist. In just a few minutes. (Turns to face 
blackboard up c.) 

Pearl. NOW. Joe's out there. 

Mrs. Mulligan. (Seated at r. end table c. faces 
Pearl, raucously) Aw, shut up. 

Daniel. Mrs. Mulligan — (Quiet reproof) Pearl — 
you're interrupting. (To all) I was going to say — 
that's where we get the quotation on the board. I've 
jumbled it a bit — (Reads writing on board up c. Pearl 
goes up to window r. and looks out) "And so, to the 
end of history, hate shall breed hate, murder shall 
breed murder, until the gods create a race that can 
understand " 

(A brick is thrown against window-pane up l.c and 
comes into room, through the one pane of glass in 
window l.) 

(All: ad lib exclamations of alarm and surprise as 
they spring to feet. Grubby holds rear of table l. 
end facing window. Mary Margaret holds rear 
of table r. and facing zvindow, in terror. Mrs. 
Mulligan to dozvn r.; Miss Levinson to r.c. a 
step. Mr. Henchley rises, holds r. end bench c. 
facing zvindow. Gilchrist goes up and looks out 
of zvindow up l.c. Mrs. Henchley rises, steps up, 
remains at l. lozver corner table c. Then pushes 
armchair to l. by fireplace.) 

Daniel. Don't be alarmed. It's only some hoodlum. 
(Finishing line as he gets to window.) 

Pearl. (Comes dozvn from window to above table 
r.) Mr. Gilchrist — it's Joe. I seen him in front. That's 
why I couldn't get out. Somebody go get the police. 

Mrs. Mulligan. Police! Police! (Up r.c. to near 
windozv. ) 

Daniel. (Stopping her at window L.) No. (Slowly 
to l. upper end table c) 



ACT THREE 109 

Pearl. (Coming to r. end table c.) He's got other 
men with him. He'll kill you. 

(Loud door slam off r. START MOB MURMUR 
off R. ALL pause and face r. on door slam.) 

Pearl. (High tension) Here he comes. Don't let 
him in. (Rushes to doors r. back against them, arms 
outspread) Somebody help me hold this door. 

(Mrs. Henchley holds, frightened and trembling l.c. 
near fireplace. Grubby goes to l.c. by table.) 

Daniel. (To below l. end bench c.) Pearl — stand 
aside. 

(Mr. Henchley seizes Miss Levinson's stool r. up- 
per end table to up r. above door and raises stool 
to strike down whoever enters. Mr.. Mulligan 
rushes across rear to r. and above Mrs. Hench- 
ley. Miss Levinson shrinks back l.c. to r. of 
Mrs. Mulligan. All hold eyeing doors r.) 

(Goodkind in spite of Pearl's resistance slowly pushes 
open tipper half of door r. and enters. Crosses to 

L.C.) 

Gilchrist. It's only Mr. Goodkind. 
Goodkind. Yes, and your neighbors are calling. 

(Pearl rushes to Gilchrist at front c. belozv bench 
facing r.; Gilchrist to front c. one arm protect- 
ingly about Pearl, facing r.) 

(VERY SPECIAL NOTE: All that follows the 
entrance of Goodkind happens so quickly, and the 
speeches are spoken so much together, that this 
business is the actual cue for the entrance of Hen- 



110 THE FOOL 

NIG. As Goodkind says "neighbors are calling" 
he walks into the room. This is simultaneously 
with Pearl rushing to Gilchrist. Joe can sec 
through the door when Goodkind moves and this 
is his cue to enter, so that he and his rowdies get 
on stage just as Pearl is clasped by Gilchrist. 
Everything said between "your neighbors are call- 
ing" and Hennig's "Come on, fellows" is during 
the action.) 

Mr. Henchley. (As Goodkind enters) What's 
the matter? 

Mrs. Henchley. (Frightened, down a step, ad- 
dressing Gilchrist) Is there any danger? 

Mary Margaret. I'll get the cops. (Starts r. along 
rear of table c. pauses as All hold as: Supers murmur 
rises to angry shouts and growls until they burst in 
both doors r.) 

(Hennig leads crowd of Supers on r. driving straight 
to his position tzvo feet r. and a foot down from r. 
end bench c. Supers all speak together.) 

No. 1 — Climb his collar-button. Ride him. Go to it, 
Joe. You know we're with you. 

No. 2— The fake ! 

No. 3 — The damn skunk ! 

No. 4 — Get this guy for keeps 

No. 5 — Yes, and we'll get this guy now. 

No. 6 — Come on, rush him ! 

Jimmy Curran. Beat him up! Come on, fellers! 

No. 7 — (Enters, no lines.) 

No. 8 — (Young Woman made up as a Tough Girl of 
the Streets, goes to rear table, no lines.) 

No. 9 — (Follozvs No. 8 on, no lines.) 

Hennig. (As he enters) Come on, fellows ! We'll 
show this guy. We'll show — (At position, sees Pearl 
in Gilchrist's arms c.) By God! Caught in the act. 



ACT THREE 111 

(Tarns to crowd behind him, indicating Pearl) That's 
my wife. 

(Mr. Henchley slinks rear to r. of Miss Levinson 
as Mob starts to enter.) 

Daniel. Caught in what act, Joe? Tell him what 
we're here for — you, Grubby. 

Grubby. No, I don't wanter get in no trouble. 
(Backs atvay and turns l.c. to beside Mrs. Henchley.) 

Mary Margaret. I'll tell you. (Speaking as Grubby 
finishes the word "No".) 

(Umanski, in his shirt sleeves, enters r. on the run, 
breaks through crowd to between Gilchrist and 

Hennig.) 

Gilchrist. No, Mary Margaret. 
Umanski. I tell you. (Grips Hennig by shoulder, 
forcing him to his knees.) 

(Supers ad lib angry murmurs as Umanski bursts 
through them.) 

Hennig. (Fearfully, in surprise) Umanski! 

Umanski. I tell you, Hennig. Mr. Gilchrist has 
been friend to everybody. And now, when HE needs 
friends, nobody knows nothing. Well, I know. I know 
anybody hurt him gotta lick me. 

(Supers back away upstage still murmuring ad lib, and 
fearful of Umanski but ready to attack.) 

Daniel. (Taking a step r. toward crowd, crossing 
Pearl) No — please — Umanski. 

Hennig. Lickin' people ain't gonna hide facts. 
(Mob roars approval.) 



112 THE FOOL 

(Daniel touches Umanski's left arm gently and 
Umanski sets Hen nig on his feet; folds his arms, 
facing crowd. Hen nig gathers himself together, 
to incite gang.) 

He was a preacher, and he got kicked out of his church. 

(Supers: derisive ad lib for an instant. All speak to- 
gether.) 

No. 1 — They got onto him, eh? 
No. 2 — The dirty bum ! 
No. 3 — That's a good one! 

No. 4— Yah 

No. 5— Hah— hah 



No. 7 — Caught with the goods. 

Hennig. He was a spy for the people that live on 
Labor, and he came to the mines where we was on 
strike, and ran away with my wife. 

(Supers ad lib shouts and cries. All speak together.) 

No. 1— The dirty bum! 

No. 2 — Slough him ! 

No. 3 — That's what I told you. 

No. A — Yeh, I know. 

No. 5— See? 

No. 6 — Maybe he didn't get much. 

Jimmy. Why, the skunk — that's a fine- 



Pearl. {Crossing above Daniel to c, confronting 
Hennig. The Mob stops as she reaches position, fac- 
ing them) It wasn't him! 

Hennig. She says that because she's stuck on him. 

Pearl. I ain't. 

Hennig. You're workin' for him, ain't you? 

Pearl. NO. 

Gilchrist. Your wife's working in a store uptown. 

No. 1 — That's a good one! 



ACT THREE 113 

No. 2 — (Derisive laugh.) 

No. 3— Y-a-ah! 

No. A — (Laughs.) 

No. 5 — To hell yer say ! 

No. 6 — Whatcher givin' us 

Jimmy. What's she doin' here? 

No. 7 — Everybody knows what she's doin'. 

Hennig. (He must not wait for cues. He always 
speaks as Mob stops) My wife's walkin' the streets. 

Gilchrist. That's a lie! 

No. 7— Oh, is it ? 

Hennig. I heard it from a pal she picked up las' 
night — an' I seen her comin' here. 

Jimmy. (Coming down and addressing No. 2) She's 
workin' Sixth Avenue. 

(Supers general BIG derisive laugh. All speak to- 
gether.) 

No. 5 — Jimmy knows. 

No. 1 — Sure she is ! 

No. 2 — That's a good one! 

No. 3 — I told yer so. 

No. A — (Laughs.) 

No. 6 — I knew that right along. 

No. 7 — You betcha ! 

(Dead stop for Mob so next two lines can be heard.) 

Gilchrist. Pearl! — It IS a lie? 

Pearl. Oh, no — it's true. 

All. (Speak together) Hah — (Turn up r.c. a step.) 

No. 1— Sure! 

No. 2— Didn't I tell yer, I knew it all the time ? 

No. 3— That's right. 

No. A — Right is right. 

No. 5 — Nothin' to it. 

No. 6 — Sure. 



114 THE FOOL 

No. 7 — There you are ! 

Pearl. {To Mob) Well! Well! Well! {Until 
she quiets them) Why wouldn't it be ? {Turns to Dan) 
I tried to live straight — like you told me — an' I had a 
job — but when the other girls got wise 

No. 8 — {Girl of the Streets. Above table r.) They 
kicked yer out, didn't they? 

Pearl. {Turning to her) They ain't no better than 
I am. 

No. 8— The hell they ain't ! 

(Supers general derisive laughter.) 

Pearl. Anyway — I lied ! I am walkin' the streets. 
I ain't no good. I ain't fit ter live. {Sinks on bench 
front c.) 

(Supers general turnazvay up and r. in disgust.) 

Daniel. {To l. of Pearl, hand to her shoulder) 
Pearl 

Pearl. Fer Christ's sake ain't yer done with me 
now? 

Daniel. For Christ's sake — no. 

{A pause — Pearl looks up at Daniel, then slowly 
rises and buries head on his shoulder.) 

Hennig. It's all a fake. Ain't you fellers on? 
Supers. Sure ! 

Hennig. He's got every rotten woman in the 
neighborhood workin' fer him. 
No. 1 — Sure he has. 
No. 2 — I know he has. 
No. 3— That's right! 
No. 4 — Sure. 

No. 5 — Why that's his game? 
No. 6— Yeh 



ACT THREE 115 

Jimmy. Betcha life he has. 
Hennig. Your wives ain't safe ! 
Supers. No. 

(During this enter Tony Malducca. Joe sees Tony.) 

Hennig. Your kids ain't safe. 
Supers. No. 

Hennig. (Facing doors r.) Ask Tony Malduc- 
ca 

No. 2 — Here's Tony now! 

(Supers all face r. hustling Tony on stage and dozvn 
r. of Joe. All speak together as they come on zvith 
Tony.) 

No. 10 — (Just off r.) Come on Tony, we'll get this 

guy- 
No. 11 — (Just off r.) Yes an' we'll get him good. 

No. 12 — (Just off r.) Oh, hell, come on, Tony, 

No. 13 — (Enters r. but has no line.) 

No. 14 — Break him up! Wreck the joint! 

No. 15 — Come on, come on! 

No. 16 — What's it all about? 

No. 17 — Let's get this guy. 

No. 18 — (Street Girl. Rushes on r. to above table 
c.l. of No. 8.) 

No. 19 — (Another Street Girl. Rushes on r. above 
table c. betzveen 8 — 9.) 

No. 20 — (Rushes on r. to r. of 8.) 

Tony. (As \e enters and goes to position r. of Hen- 
nig) What )rou want? Why you send for me? 

Hennig. We want ter know what happened ter your 
kid. Did he keep her here against her will? Did he? 

Tony. That's what he done. 

(Supers, general outburst in unison. All speak to- 
gether,) 



116 THE FOOL 

No. 1— Ah ha! 

No. 2— Yah! 

No. 3 — Yer see? 

No. A — Slough him! 

No. 5 — Sure — everybody knows that. 

No. 6— Yeh! 

No. 7 — You remember Teresa Malducca. 

No. 8— Hah 

No. 9— (Nods to 8.) 

No. 10 — Come on Tony, bust him one. 

No. 11 — Yeh — get him good. 

No. 12 — Oh hell, come on — slug him! 

No. 13— That's it 

No. 14 — Get this guy! 

No. 15 — That's what he done! She was here all 
right. 

No. 16 — She was here a week. 

No. 17 — Sure she was. 

Umanski. You damned wop! (Toward Tony.) 

(Tony turns behind Super for protection.) 

Daniel. (Crosses Pearl: who takes stage l.) 
Umanski. (A step r. and gesture, restraining Uman- 
ski.) 

Hennig. Drive him out ! (Inciting Mob, facing 
them. ) 

(Supers all menacingly advance toward Gilchrist a 
step. They speak simultaneously the following 
short exlamations.) 

No. 1 — Soak him! 
No. 2 — Beat him up! 
No. 3 — Beat him up ! 
No. A — Beat him up! 
No. 5 — Beat him up! 
No. 6 — Beat him up! 



ACT THREE 117 

No. 7 — He's a damned fake. 

No. 10 — Jump on him ! 

Tony. There ain't no woman safe. 

No. 11— Kill him! 

No. 12— Yeh 

Hennig. Don't let this guy buffalo you. (Indicates 
Umanski, then to Gilchrist) I said I'd get you, Gil- 
christ, and I have! (He runs upstage to the Super 
farthest up, and in this moment's silence we hear one 
line from Mary Margaret.) 

Mary Margaret. (She has climbed on the platform, 
and, at the last outburst of the Mob, drops on her knees, 
facing r. with her hands raised to heaven) Oh, dear 
God, please listen ! 

Hennig. COME ON ! 

(He rushes from upstage at Umanski: who throws 
him back with right hand. A Super downstage 
rushes at Umanski : who throws him with left 
hand, so violently that lie falls on the floor. There 
is a general scrimmage, zvith Umanski throwing 
the men off as fast as they come to him. From 
this moment on to end of act Mary Margaret 
never ceases repeating the Lord's Prayer, so that 
she can be heard in momentary silences of the Mob. 
When the fracas is at its height, Goodkind comes 
down just l. of Umanski.) 

(Note: Mary Margaret, on the platform, is facing 
obliquely front and right. She is high-lighted by 
the strip in the footliglits. No one on the stage 
observes her, or pays any attention to her.) 

Pearl. (Throwing bag and collarette to platform 
L.) Get the police! 

Mrs. Henchley. (In terror; low voice) Police — 
Police ! 



118 THE FOOL 

(Mrs. Mulligan crowds down l. by platform l. All 
at Left Centre back l. a little and huddle together 
like sheep, terror-stricken, yet fascinated, eyeing 
crowd r.c.) 

Miss Levinson. (Crying out window up l.c.) 
Police — Police 

Jimmy. (To Umanski, as latter throws off Hen- 
nig) Get out of the way you 

No. 1 — Bust him one ! 

No. 2 — Bust him in the jaw someone. 

No. 3 — Come on ! 

No. 4— Yeh! 

No. 5 — You damned Polack 

(Supers exclaiming ad lib, crowd forward to attack, 
then hesitate, undecided by fear of Umanski's 
strength. They quiet gradually as Goodkind 
speaks. Umanski remains quietly but dangerously 
eyeing Mob, ready to meet another attack and beat 
it back.) 

Goodkind. (Coming to R. end bench c.) Listen to 
me! You're dealing with a lunatic. I've got a doctor 
coming. Leave him to me — and I'll have this place 
closed tonight. 

Jimmy. Yes, and he'll open another one! 

No. 1 — Sure he will. 

All Supers. Sure he will ! 

No. 2 — Sure! 

No. 3 — Jump on him. 

No. 5 — Let's get him now. 

Goodkind. Leave him alone. You can't beat a crazy 
man. 

Pearl. (At l.) Mr. Gilchrist ain't crazy. He's a 
Saint. I tell you he's like God. 



ACT THREE 119 

No. 15 — Where's his wings? 
(Supers all laugh raucously.) 

No. 1 — Yeh, where are they? 

Hennig. Like God. (Laughs.) 

Jimmy. That's blasphemy. 

Hennig. That's what it is, an' that's what he's bin 
tellin' 'em. (~*o Gilchrist accusingly, hand up) 
Didn't you tell 'em you was a son of God? 

(Mary Margaret has been praying aloud from start. 
Now, as Gilchrist pauses before replying, the 
words of her prayer, come out strongly.) 

Daniel. (After pause) lam! 

(Goodkind shakes head hopelessly, turns up past r. 
end of the table to up c. by blackboard. Supers 
join in jeering, raucous laughter at Gilchrist, 
turning to each other in vindictive humor at the 
"joke". All speak together.) 

No. 1 — The Son of God — a-a-ah 

No. 2 — Aw, can that stuff. 

No. 3 — Yah. (Points and laughs.) 

No. A — That's a good one. 

No. 5— Bull! 

No. 6 — Aw, ye're crazy. 

No. 7 — Aw, take that outside. 

Tony. Look at the Son of God! 

No. 11— Yah. yah! 

Jimmy. The Son of God! 

Tony. Aw 

No. 12 — Yeh you are! 
No. 13 — (Laughs.) 
No. 14 — (Laughs.) 
No. 15 — He's crazy. 



120 THE FOOL 

No. 16. — Crazy as a bat. 

No. 17— Son of God! Ha! Ha! 

Daniel. (Topping tumult, spreading arms, front c. 
to Mob) And so are we all. In you and me and all of 
us — deep down — is something of HIM. (A LOUD 
JEER) We may try to hide it— (JEER) or kill it— 
(JEER) but, in spite of ourselves we are divine. 

(Supers jeer throughout above on Daniel's pauses 
but NOT downing his lines.) 

No. 1 — Aw, cut it out ! 

Tony. (Crossing to Gilchrist, speaking in his 
face) If you are a Son of God — save yourself ! If you 
are — what you say — give us a sign. 

(On this dead cue, a Super pulls the cord reaching from 
the chandelier to the table lamp. With this, all the 
lights go out, and the stage is in blackness except 
for the glozv from the fire and the two bracket 
lamps l., which, supposedly, give the light coming 
from the strip in the footlights. They are all 
screaming their lines at once. We see their hands 
lifted and falling, as though they were striking 
Gilchrist. Just as the lights go out, one Super 
climbs on the chair behind Umanski, wraps his 
arms around Umanski's neck, and clings to him. 
Other Supers seize Umanski and hustle him up- 
stage out of the way, clearing a path for the other 
Supers to close around Gilchrist. One Super 
upsets the table, and another clears the bench. The 
excuse for this latter movement is that he is going 
to strike Gilchrist with it, but one of the women 
behind him seises the end of the bench, rendering 
it useless, and he sets it down. As the Mob circles 
about Gilchrist, Hennig leads him to spot 
marked on the ground cloth where he is to fall. 
Caution: No one to stand in way of light from 



ACT THREE 121 

fireplace. Everyone onstage is fighting, including 
Pearl, Mrs. Henchley and the women. The 
girls turn away in disgust close to back wall. 
Supers speak together during this attack.) 

No. 1 — Pitch this junk out of the window. {Does 
so and tears open drawers of chest up r.) 

Jimmy. The damn fake! Kill him! (Rushes for 

C"tTT CHRIST ) 

No. 2— Oh hell, come on— let's beat him up. (Runs 
to Gilchrist, strikes him.) 

(Pearl grips No. 2 and throws him to l.c.) 

No. 3 — Wreck the place ! (Tries to get to Gilchrist 
to punch him.) 

No. 4 — (Rushes to Gilchrist, swings at him. 
Umanski pushes him aside.) 

No. 5— Let's get this guy. (Steps on chair R. end 
table c. and throws arms about Umanski's neck and 
pretends to get him to door.) 

No. 10 — That's right— we'll get him. (Rushes at 
Umanski, pins his arms to his side, wrestles him to 

door r.) 

Umanski. (Struggles with No. 5— No. 10— -wrestles 
to door, throws No. 5 out the door, and No. 10 to the 
floor.) 

No. 6 — (Helps Jimmy throw table up c. then rushes 
at Gilchrist until Umanski stops him) You can't 
get away with that stuff around here. 

No. 7 — (Pulls light cord, turns table up c. throws 
bench up c.) 

No. 11— (Pulls chair rear of table to R.) Bounce 
him on the dome — (Slams chair on floor making noise.) 

No. 12— Give him the boot ! (Rushes at Gilchrist.) 

Pearl. (Seises No. 12 and throws him l.c.) 

No. 13 — (Makes a noise with chairs up r.c.) 



122 THE FOOL 

No. 14 — Plug him! Plug! (Rushes at Gilchrist, 
is thrown back by Umanski.) 

No. 15 — Beat him up — beat him up — (Enthusiasti- 
cally, starts for Gilchrist) Kick him — give him the 
boot. (Starts to do it.) 

Umanski. A-a-ah. 

No. 16 — (Opens drawers and dumps out contents, 
throws down chairs that arc up R. General wrecking.) 

No. 17 — Slug him! beat him up! punch his eye — 
slug him! 

(At the height of the fracas, after Gilchrist has fallen, 
Umanski breaks loose and plows his way through 
the crowd, coming around right, and then clearing 
a path to Gilchrist, shoving Supers in all direc- 
tions, so that when he stops he is almost at Gil- 
christ's feet. Gilchrist has fallen with his feet 
pointing to the door r. When he is disclosed, 
Pearl has knelt at his head, which is l. and put 
his head on her lap. When Umanski clears the 
way and we see this picture it is practically the 
picture of the Magdalene at the Cross. As Uman- 
ski sees this he gives a deep, guttural cry of rage 
and sorrow.) 

Umanski. A — h — h! 

(Everyone silent on this exclamation, looking at the 
picture. On hearing Umanski's cry, Mary 
Margaret, realising that something is wrong with 
her hero, forgetting herself in her excitement, 
stumbles to her feet and rises without her crutches, 
helping herself up by clinging to the chair on the 
platform. She steps down from the platform. 
Miss Levinson, hearing the step, turns and sees 
her.) 



ACT THREE 123 

Miss Levinson. (In a loud cry of amazement and 
horror) Mary Margaret — where are your crutches? 

(All look at Mary Margaret awed, silent. No one 
moves.) 

Mary Margaret. (Pause; looks at her feet after 
looking under armpits for crutches; bewildered) I 
don't know. (Essays a few tottering steps, pauses in 
ec stacy) I kin walk — I kin walk ! (She staggers for- 
ward, looking for Gilchrist, to tell him that she can 
walk) Mr. Gilchrist! Mr. Gilchrist! (Daniel has 
been concealed from her by members of the Mob stand- 
ing betzveen them. As they sec her zvalking toward 
them, they step back in awe, and suddenly she sees Gil- 
christ lying on the floor) Oh, Mr. Gilchrist! (She 
says this with a breaking heart and a sob in her voice. 
She sinks down at his head and folds him in her arms. 
There is a pause.) 

(Note: During attack on Gilchrist and Umanski 
all those at l.c. play to scene ad lib and work down 
stage to positions for Umanski's "A-a-ah" as per 
directions. ) 

Umanski. You wanted a sign — (Voice deep, hushed 
awe) Down on your knees you murderers ! GOD IS 
IN THIS ROOM, (Ring Curtain. Other lines as it 
falls slowly) Down on your knees ! Down on your 
knees, down on your knees! (Curtain reaches stage.) 



CURTAIN 



124 THE FOOL 

(Mob fall slowly to their knees, one by one and two by 
two. All have seen a miracle. HOLD for picture. 
Take up curtain the moment it grounds and in- 
stantly down again. Mob exit rapidly after pic- 
ture.} 

1. Call All principals, except Pearl, Clare, Mary 
Margaret and Umanski. 

2. Call Daniel, Clare, Goodkind, Umanski. 

3. Call Daniel and Pearl. 

4. Call Daniel and Clare. 

5. Call Mary Margaret. 

6. Call Daniel and Mary Margaret. 

7. Call All Principals. 



Act Four 



Scene: Gilchrist's Room. "Upstairs." 

The room is cheerful. That is its chief aspect. 
Cheerful, and comfortable, and home-like. Such 
a room — in the rear of the fourth story — might be 
had anywhere for seven dollars a week, and its 
contents duplicated for a couple of hundred, yet 
no one should be able to look in without envying 
the occupant. Before the warm glow of a fireplace 
down r. is a big, brown leather-covered armchair. 
An electric lamp stands on table, stage left of the 
chair and obliquely opposite the fireplace. There 
are books on the table, too, and writing things, and 
another chair, on its Left. Above the grate a picture 
of Christ in the Temple. Conspicuous in the flat, 
and visible from all parts of the house, a big 
studio window. There are brown curtains, drawn 
now, but when they are pulled aside, one sees 
chimney-pots, and roof-tops, and a blue night-sky, 
zvith one particularly bright star. Up l. a door to 
a hall bedroom, (This door not used) and down 
L. a door. The zvalls, covered with old-gold grass- 
cloth, are hidden, to a height of six feet, by 
roughly-built book-cases, filled with much used 
books. A sofa, four feet from the wall l. nozv 
holds numerous packages. Twenty packages on 
lower end sofa. Furs zvith packages mentioned 
on top of them. There is a brown cloth on the 
floor, and there may be a window seat, with brown 
cushions, beneath the zvindozv. The furniture is 

126 



ACT FOUR 127 

all old — probably second-hand — but, as aforesaid, 
the room suggests comfort and peace. 

Time: Tzvo Months later. 

At Rise : It is just after eight o'clock. Christmas Eve 
1920. Daniel is discovered, dreaming, in the arm- 
chair r v a pipe in his mouth and his face to the fire. 
He has not lighted the desk lamp, and except for 
the glow of the embers, the room is in darkness. — 
Hanging over the left arm of the chair, Daniel's 
hand holds a magazine, but he has not begun read- 
ing. After a pause long enough for the audience 
to take in his surroundings, Mary Margaret 
enters down l. She walks without crutches — quite 
briskly — but plainly is on some secret business. 
Daniel is lost in the darkness. A package in her 
hand, Mary Margaret crosses quickly to the table, 
and turns on one and then the other of the two 
lights in the lamp. Instantly, of course, she sees 
the figure in the chair, and conceals the package 
beneath her apron. 

Lighting. At rise a slight glow in the foots — just 
enough to show outline of room — and glow from 
fire on Daniel. 

When Mary Margaret enters, she leaves open 
the door behind her, and, in the light from strips 
back of the door, we see that she is zvalking. 

When she lights the desk lamp, foots and borders 
on enough to give room comfortable warm appear- 
ance, and still be light enough for comedy scene. 
Dim slightly for Jerry's entrance during Daniel's 
tzvo long speeches, beginning "What is success?" 

Foots up 34 on rise. No borders. Then full up. 
Dim for Jerry during Dan's long speech. 

Mary Margaret. (l. of desk) Mr. Gilchrist? 



128 THE FOOL 

(He shows himself) Goo'ness, how you scared me ! I 
thought you went out ! 

Daniel. No! I just slipped up here to read a while 
before we put our gifts on the tree. Where's Grubby? 

Mary Margaret. (Contemptuously) Grubby! 

Daniel. He promised to help with the packages. 

Mary Margaret. Grubby 's all swelled up with his 
new taxi-cab. Christmas Eve's the big night in his busi- 
ness, but he says don't worry, he'll be here in time for 
the sandwiches. (Hides picture under apron, crosses to 
door to slip out) I'm interruptin' your reading? 

Daniel. (Stopping her) Oh, no, you're not ! What 
have you there ? 

Mary Margaret, (l.c. Looking innocent, and ob- 
livious of fact that her apron sticks out two feet in front 
of her) Where ? 

Daniel. Under your apron. 

Mary Margaret. Oh! (She reveals the parcel) 
I was gonna surprise you. It's your Christmas present. 

Daniel. From you? (Rises.) 

Mary Margaret. (Crosses to him and hands him 
picture at down stage corner of desk) Yes. It ain't 
much — you know — an' I didn't want it on the tree — 
before everybody — I wanted to give it to you yourself. 
(He simply holds the package and looks at her. A 
pause. Then she squeals) Open it now. (He does so. 
The package contains a framed picture.) 

Daniel. (Downstage in front of desk) Mary 
Margaret ! (He imitates her tone of ecstatic excitement 
for its comedy value.) 

Mary Margaret. The name's on the back! (He 
turns it around, revealing to the audience a cheap and 
highly-colored chromo) So — "Mama's Treasure!" 

Daniel. It's just what I wanted. 

Mary Margaret. (Delighted) Is it — honest? 

Daniel. Hm — hm 

Mary Margaret. (Looks around the room for a 
place to put it and decides to substitute it for "Christ 



ACT FOUR 129 

in the Temple") Let's put it in place of that one over 
the mantelpiece! That's an awful pretty pitcher, but 
mine's got colors in it ! 

Daniel. Why not in place of the Venus who fell 
on her nose ? 

Mary Margaret. Oh, yes! (Crosses l. Looks at 
space on bookcase up l. Goes up to chair below book- 
case, steps up on it, places picture in the centre, steps 
off, backing downstage, satisfies herself that location is 
good then turns to Gilchrist. Daniel moves l.c. 
Mary backs to r.c.) It looks good, don't it? 

Daniel. Beautiful. I can't thank you enough. 
(Takes her hand) I can't really. 

Mary Margaret. You can't thank me! You that's 
give me — (She looks down at her legs, and up again 
with eyes full of tears) Oh, Mr. Gilchrist ! 

Daniel. Now ! Now ! Now ! We mustn't cry on 
Christmas ! 

Mary Margaret. (Bursting into a flood of tears, 
and speaking 1 er line as she weeps) What're you go- 
ing to do if you're happy ? 

Daniel. Try laughing. (He shakes finger at her, 
and her sobs turn into laughter) Anyway, if I'm hav- 
ing my Christmas now, you must have yours. Suppose 
you rummage on the sofa. (He points to lower end of 
couch.) 

Mary Margaret. (Crosses him to l.) Oh! (She 
runs to obey, sits on sofa and holds up a parcel inquir- 
ingly. He stands with back to chair l. of desk.) 

Daniel. That's a book for Miss Levinson. 

Mary Margaret. (Reads from another bundle) 
Mrs. Mulligan. (Takes a third) This one ain't marked. 

Daniel. Gloves for Mack. I wanted to show I ap- 
preciated his bringing back that coat. 

Mary Margaret. (Reading from two packages) 
Peter— Paul 

Daniel. For your brothers. 



130 THE FOOL 

Mary Margaret. (With a fourth) And — Mary 
Margaret. 

Daniel. Open it now. 

XMary Margaret, breathless, hesitates and then, re- 
movinp the wrapping, lifts up a bit of tissue 
paper.) 

Mary Margaret. (Hysterical with delight) Tishie 
paper ! (She continues rummaging in the box, until she 
sees her gift, which the audience does not see yet. Then 
she turns, facing Gilchrist, but still sitting on the 
sofa) Oh, Mr. Gilchrist! Oh, Mr. Gilchrist; you 
oughtn't! (He comes l.) They're beautiful! (She 
pulls out of the box a child's set of furs of imitation 
ermine — very cheap and little. The sight of them should 
be amusing. She lifts the muff by the cord attached to 
it with her right hand, and then brings out the neck- 
piece with her left hand. She rises. During the next 
speech she is putting the neck-piece around her throat, 
and stuffing her hands into the muff) They're the most 
beautilulest furs I ever seen! I've wanted a set like 
this always. You've made me so happy! (And she 
begins to t cry again) I never was so happy before in my 
life! 

Daniel. Now! 

Mary .Margaret. (She remembers, and laughs) 
I don't know how to thank you. (Stroking furs.) 

Daniel. Don't try. 

Mary Margaret. I never expected no such a Christ- 
mas ! (Starts for door) I gotta show mother ! 

Daniel. (Turning r.) Take down a few of the 
packages! (He crosses to front of desk and knocks 
ashes from pipe.) 

Mary Margaret. I'll be back in a minute. (She 
opens the door, disclosing Goodkind. Seriously 
alarmed) Oh! — Mr. Gilchrist! 

Daniel. (Turning l.) Well — Mr. Goodkind! 



ACT FOUR 131 

Goodkind. May I come in ? 

Daniel. Of course. (Goodkind enters. Daniel in- 
dicates chair l. of table r. Mary Margaret crosses to 
turn chair front.) Sit down! 

Goodkind. (c.) I've only a moment. Jerry's wait- 
ing for me in the car. 

Daniel. How is Jerry? (Crosses r.) 

Goodkind. (Shakes his head despairingly, looks at 
Mary Margaret as she crosses back to l.) I wish you 
could perform a miracle on him. 

Daniel. I wish I could. 

Goodkind. (To Mary Margaret) You seem to 
walk all right. 

Mary Margaret, (l. of Goodkind. Looks at her 
legs) Oh, yes ! 

Goodkind. (To Daniel) Had a doctor look her 



over 



Daniel. Three of 'em. 
Goodkind. Any opinion? 
Daniel. Three opinions. 

(Goodkind turns away, not getting full significance, 
and then turns back sharply to point laugh.) 

Mary Margaret. They said he didn't do it, and you 
seen him ! 

Daniel. (Holding up a warning finger) Ssh! 
(Then to Goodkind) They all say she suffered from 
hysterical paraplegia. (Goodkind puzzled) Hysterical 
paralysis. One says she was cured by shock — you know ; 
the riot. Another says it was suggestion — believing — 
which is another way of saying faith, isn't it? The 
important thing is that she's cured! 

Mary Margaret. God did it — God and Mr. Gil- 
christ ! 

Daniel. (Hushing her again) Take down an arm- 
ful of those packages — like a good girl ! 

Mary Margaret. I will. (She takes off six from 



132 THE FOOL 

upper end of sofa and, returning l.c, glowers blackly 
at Goodkind. Then to Gilchrist) You call — if you 
want me ! (She is at the door and one step takes her off. 
Exit.) 

Goodkind. (Hesitates. Doesn't know how to begin. 
Takes cigars from his pocket) Smoke? 

Daniel. Thanks. (Fills his pipe) I'll stick to my 
old friend. 

Goodkind. How are things with you? 

Daniel. Fine ! 

Goodkind. Happy? 

Daniel. (Radiantly) Yes! — And you? 

Goodkind. No. Everything's — all wrong. (Sits L. 
of desk) My boy's very ill. Clare's wonderful to him. 
I can't explain it — she's like a different woman. And 
she seems happy. But Jerry's had to give up work, and 
there's more trouble in Black River, and that's what 
brought me! 

Daniel. You don't want my advice? (Sits on down- 
stage arm of chair r. of desk.) 

Goodkind. I want you — as general manager. — These 
strikes are such utter damned waste ! We had a work- 
ing compromise on your agreement, and everything 
was all right, but we began figuring we could make 
more money — and the men walked out, and flooded the 
mines. I'd like you to take charge, Daniel. 

Daniel. I can't. 

Goodkind. Name your own salary. 

Daniel. My work is here. 

Goodkind. You can have anything you want. 

Daniel. I don't want anything. 

Goodkind. You want to see the men get their rights. 

Daniel. They'll get 'em. Nothing can stop that. 

Goodkind. You're not going to turn down — (Looks 
at him to see how much he had better offer) fifty thou- 
sand a year ? 

Daniel. What can I buy with it that I haven't got ? 



ACT FOUR 133 

Goodkind. (Leaning forward) What can you buy 
with fifty 

Daniel. What have you bought ? 

Goodkind. (Taken aback — physically as well as 
mentally. Has some trouble thinking what he has 
bought) Why, I — I've got one of the finest houses in 
New York ! 

Daniel. Is it any more comfortable than this? 

Goodkind. (Indicating room) This one little room ! 

Daniel. How many rooms do you live in at the 
same time? 

Goodkind. I've got a half a dozen cars ! 

Daniel. I've two legs, and I walk, and keep well. 

Goodkind. I've twenty servants 

Daniel. Don't tell me you enjoy that ! 

Goodkind. And the respect of people about me 

Daniel. So have I ! 

Goodkind. And, what's most important of all, I'm 
a success ! 

Daniel. Are you? 

Goodkind. Huh ? 

Daniel. Are you? What is success ? Money? Yes; 
that is what our civilization tells us. Money! But 
where has that brought us? Only to the elevation of 
the unfit — the merely shrewd and predatory. All around 
us we see men of wealth who have nothing else — neither 
health nor happiness nor love nor respect. Men who 
can get no joy out of books, or pictures, or music, or 
even themselves. Tired, worried men who are afraid 
to quit because they have no resource except to make 
money — money with which to buy vulgar excitement 
for their own debased souls. Why, Mr. Goodkind, I 
have an income that you wouldn't suggest to your book- 
keeper. But I have peace, and health, and friends, and 
time to read, and think, and dream, and help. Which 
of us is the rich man? 

Goodkind. But if everybody lived your way, what 
would become of the world's work? 



134 THE FOOL 

Daniel. Living that way is my contribution to the 
world's work. Another man's might be selling shoes, 
or writing plays, or digging ditches. Doing his job 
doesn't prevent any man from doing his bit. "From 
every man according to his ability to every man accord- 
ing to his needs." And every man who gives his best 
must find his happiness. 

Goodkind. I'm afraid there wouldn't be much pro- 
gress — living your way. 

(Dim Lights.) 

Daniel. That's the second time you've spoken of my 
way. It isn't my way. It's the sum total of all that has 
been learned and taught. You, and Jerry, and the others 
have called me eccentric, and a fool, because I'm trying 
to walk a path trod hard by countless feet. Was Christ 
eccentric? Was Confucius a fool? And how about 
Buddha and Mohammed? What of St. Bernard, and 
St. Teresa, and St. Francis of Assisi — of Plato, and 
Zeno, and Lincoln, and Emerson, and Florence Night- 
ingale, and Father Damien, and Octavia Hill, and all 
the saints and scientists, and poets and philosophers, 
who have lived and died in complete forgetfulness of 
self ? Were they fools, or were they wise men and 
women who had found the way to peace and happiness ? 
Were they failures, or were they the great successes 
of all Time and all Eternity? 

Goodkind. God knows ! 

(IV e hear the thump of Jerry's cane off l. Then the 
door knob rattles. Goodkind, realising what it is, 
rises, and his expression becomes apprehensive. 
Jerry enters, a dying man. He is in the last stages 
of locomotor ataxia, and has the peculiar walk 
that is symptomatic of that disease. He is a ghastly 
sight, but, though his speech is thick and he man- 
ages his legs with difficulty, he is still cynical and 



ACT FOUR 135 

defiant. He leaves the door open behind him. Gil- 
christ rises immediately upon his entrance.) 

Jerry. (He takes two or three steps to l.c be j ore 
speaking) Well, you've been the devil of a time! I 
came up to see what was keeping you ! 

Goodkind. (Rising) Mr. Gilchrist. (Up c.) 

Jerry. Hello, Gilchrist ! 

Daniel, (r.c. in front of desk) How are you, 
Jerry? 

Jerry. Not so damned well ! But I'll be all right in 
the Spring! Clare's looking after me. Clare's a good 
sport. What I need now's a run down to Palm Beach ! 
(Looks around) So you're reduced to this are you? 

Daniel. Yes. 

Jerry. Going to take my job? 

Daniel. No. 

Jerry. Why not? 

Daniel. Your father understands. 

Jerry. Yes — so do I ; didn't I always say you were 
a nut ? That's it ; a nut. (He laughs with a laugh that 
begins to get the better of him.) 

Goodkind. (Crosses hack of Jerry, and, touching 
his shoulder, starts for door) Come, Jerry ! (At the 
touch, Jerry's laugh becomes shrill and hysterical. 
Goodkind returns and grips his shoulder forcefully 
enough to bring Jerry back to self-control) Jerry! 
Jerry! 

(Jerry stops laughing. Goodkind goes to door l. and 
Mary Margaret enters. She glances at him and 
crosses him to Jerry, not until then becoming 
aware of the ghastly figure before her. Jerry 
looks at hep with such a leer that she slinks upstage. 
Jerry then turns to Gilchrist.) 



136 THE FOOL 

Jerry. Who's the girl ? 

Daniel. Your father's waiting. 

Jerry. A'right! — (He 'turns slowly and painfully, 
and' takes two halting steps to l. then turns again, and 
throws at Gilchrist) Some failure you've made out 
of life ! (He steps into doorway and as he staggers off 
shrieks) Fool! B'God — fool! (Exit.) 

(Daniel crosses to offer hand in sympathy to Good- 
kind.) 

Goodkind. (Pause: holding hands: then speaks as 
he gives the hand a final shake) I wonder if you are the 
failure, after all. Goodnight! (Exit.) 

Daniel. (Softly) Goodnight ! 

(Daniel starts r. for his pipe on the desk. Mary 
Margaret is up l. playing happily ivith her furs. 
As Daniel reaches c. some chimes in the distance 
begin the anthem "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing." 
Daniel looks front, exalted, fairly lifted out of 
himself, and then briskly walks up to the window 
c. and stands l. of it. He draws back the curtain 
and stands with his downstage hand on his hip and 
arm akimbo. Mary Margaret, her attention at- 
tracted by his silence, crosses to r. of him, and looks 
at him. Then she looks out to see what he is look- 
ing at. Then, chagrined that he pays no attention to 
her, she looks back to him and slips her head 
through the arm he is holding akimbo. He prompt- 
ly lets his arm rest on her shoulder and draws her 
to him. They — and we — see the chimney pots, and 
the blue night sky, and one bright star.) 



ACT FOUR 137 

Mary Margaret. Mr. Gilchrist! Is that the Star 
of Bethlehem? 

Daniel. I wonder . . . 

(The chimes swell out, and 

THE CURTAIN FALLS 
THE END 



ELECTRICAL PLOT 



Act One 

Open foots c. section in pink and amber full up. 

Border (first only) left section, centre section and right 
section full up amber and pink. 

Amber baby spot left focussed on side of tree and sec- 
ond step of step-ladder r.c. 

Centre spot (border) focussed to cover two chairs down 
l.c. front. 

1000 watt amber spot r. (border) focussed to light 
door l. 

One — light amber strip off r. and l. doors. 

Two — 1000 watt lamps in blue off r. and l. directed 
between set flats and eye to light up c. stage. 

Two — 1000 watts back of drop to light windows — that 
to r. in blue, that to l. in amber. 

One — 1000 watt lens lamp amber off stage down l. to 
light Window over door (stained glass all win- 
dows.) 

One baby lens off l.c. to light CROSS at end Act. 

Cues 

At "Clare's" second enter down r. dim 1000 watt 
bunches and 1000 watt lens outside windows — slowly 
down to half up. 

At cue from Clare "Where's your overcoat?" start 
dim of foots and border down to half-up — then go back 
to bunches and dim down to a fourth up THEN con- 

138 



THE FOOL 139 

tinue dimming foots and border until OUT at CUE 
from Clare "Engagement is off." 

At Cue "I AM A JEW" bring up star on Tree on 
dimmer and then the 100 Watt spot on door down l. 
AFTER Poor Man has made exit. 

Act Two 

At opening Straw 1000 watt bunch on off French 
doors l. lighting a little of stage l.c. 

Amber strip three lamp on off down r. to light hall. 

Cues 

Servant turns light switch on stage above door r. 

Foots and Border, chandelier c. (ornate 8 light) 
brackets rear wall to either side tapestry ALL full up 
and remain throughout act. 

Servant exits down l., a moment's pause and pull 
out 1000 watt off down l. 

Act Three 

At opening foots and border full up, also lights in 
old charndelier, lamp lens in fireplace l. Blue bunch 
to r. and l. off stage to light back drop street — amber 
strip off over doorway r. to light hall, white bunch off 
up stage behind transparency drop to light windows in 
it — two brackets amber over fireplace l., also full up — • 
also table lamp. 

Cue 

In mob scene when table overturned and Man pulls 
connector from tablelamp to chandelier, all onstage 
lights OUT except brackets and a three-light amber 
addition strip in footlight trough down l. to light up 
Mary Margaret. 



140 THE FOOL 

Cue 

After first curtain call all stage lights full up. 

Act Four 

At rise just a faint glow from foots and borders — 
spot off r. in fireplace, small amber strip off l. to light 
hall. Off up c. windows 1000 watt to either side to 
light back drop — behind drop a white bunch to light 
up star holes in drop. 

Cue 

Mary Margaret turns up table lamp desk l. — stage 
foots and border to about three- fourths up — Brackets 
on wall are not practical (two at mantel r. one l. on 
wall). 

FURNITURE, HANGINGS AND PROPERTY 

PLOT 

Act One 

Down r. below door a Shoebox or small packing case 
2 feet, 9 inches long and 18 inches deep and 15 
inches wide or thereabouts placed against wall and 
empty. Leaning against this another larger oblong 
wooden box filled with wrapped parcels of vary- 
ing sizes many of which have "Christmas Labels" 
etc. Upon the upstage corner of wooden box 
on floor rests velvet covered case containing 
"STAR". (See the Electrical Plot.) 

Up r. in corner eight or ten rather large Christmas 
parcels and six long streamers made of Holly and 



THE FOOL 141 

Fir hang from top of setting, with a wreath or two 
of holly, red ribbon ties. 

r.c. about ten feet from door r. large Christmas tree 
say 12 feet in height ornately decorated with a 
profusion of tinsel, toys, and decorations, also 
Christmas parcels — and its base on the floor is 
piled up all about by at least 150 wrapped parcels, 
i.e. gifts. To the l. and against this tree, facing 
footlights a practical step-ladder 9 feet tall, strong 
enough for girl to run up and down. At the base 
of this ladder on the floor a pair of 8 inch pliers 
(pincers) and a folding wood camp chair faced 
toward the ladder and half front. 

Up c. at extreme rear the High Altar with Altar Cloths, 
Candles, Crucifix or Plain Cross as per Episcopal 
Ritual — down-stage from this, platform is covered 
with dark red carpet. 

Across Centre along Step and Altar Rail are packages 
as presents and at l. of opening c. in rail on plat- 
form are three dolls, clothed — a package of tags 
and red narrow ribbon on spool, also scissors 
(shears). Red carpet covers not only platform at 
c. but the step to the platform up c. — Platform is 
15 inches high, five feet wide and 16 feet long. 
Altar in proportion. 

Up l.c. close to Altar Rail a folding wood camp chair 
faced front. Three feet to l. of this chair an- 
other similar chair faced toward first chair — di- 
rectly down from first chair a similar chair faced 
l. and about four feet up from front edge ground 
cloth and three feet to left of this is another sim- 
ilar chair faced to r. and same distance up from 
edge of ground cloth. 

Upper l. corner another camp chair faced half front 
and centre. Six long streamers in this corner 
matching those in r. upper corner. 

Beyond Rail up c. to r. and l., a profusion of shrubs in 



142 THE FOOL 

boxes, also some flowers — masking ends of plat- 
form to r. and l. 
BLUE ground cloth down — plain. 

Offstage and Handprops 

Off down r. — 6 small parcels for "Claire" to bring on, 
wrapped and tied with dainty red ribbon and with 
Christmas labels. 

Off down l. — 8 parcels medium size for "Barnaby to 
bring on. 1 practical silver vanity case wrapped 
in tissue and in box with label for "Mrs. Tice" 
to bring on. 

Handbag for "Mrs. Tice" with money to give 
"Barnaby". 

Ten shilling note. 

Act Two 

Rich Taupe carpet down — grey green. 

r. above door a walnut side chair back against wall. 

r.c. on stage about 6 feet from door, chair upholstered, 
walnut, faced half front, half centre — to l. close 
to this chair an ash receiver and match-stand prac- 
tical. 

Up r. in corner bookshelves inset to wall proper with 
books (not practical), ornamental vase atop book- 
shelves — an ash receiver on ledge of bookshelves. 

Rear up stage an ornate tapestry hanging on wall — 
large and of dull shade not to detract from gen- 
eral tone of setting. 

Up r.c. against wall rear a cellarette built like an up- 
right oblong pedestal, key and lock to door of 
same and within it bottles of various liquors, etc., 
and a circular imitation silver tray with decanter 
and 3 whiskey highball glasses and siphon all prac- 
tical — An ornate vase atop this, 20 inches tall. 
To L. of this cellarette a small stand on which is 



THE FOOL 143 

practical cigar humidor in silver with cigars. 

Up l.c. against wall a duplicate of above save no bottles 
or door. 

Centre, a large library table in walnut with dressing, 
ash stand to r. and l. with matches — before this 
close to it down-stage a bench, backless, in walnut. 
Above this table a large ornate armchair similar 
to that r.c, at r. upper end table a walnut side 
chair facing it — at l. end table a similar chair fac- 
ing table. Bell for Goodkind to ring for servant. 

Up l. in corner, duplicate bookshelves, etc., as per that 
up r. Below this against l. wall a side chair sim- 
ilar to that r. above door. 

l.c. a large armchair similar to other two facing front 
and c. with an ash-stand on upstage side close to 
it, with matches. 

Wall below French doors l., an ornate small wall-mir- 
ror, practical. 

l. are large practical French doors. NO glass but with 
silk drapes tacked on to mask offstage. 

Offstage and Handprops 

Off down r. — Sable collarette in box wrapped in tissue, 
card within for Servant to bring on — doorbell for 
cues — also small tray with card for Servant to 
bring on. 

Off down r. — French prints in frames on backing, 
chaise longue and cushion and small table and side 
chair to dress. Cigarettes for Jerry. 

This entire set and furniture to indicate the 
home of a very rich man of good taste — an utter 
contrast to all other settings. 

Act Three 
Down r. a wall hat and coat rack on wall below doors r. 



144 THE FOOL 

On this a crook-handle umbrella costing $1. (4 
shillings.) 

Up R. against wall above doors eight or ten folding 
camp chairs folded, setting on floor. 

Up R.c. against wall rear to r. of window, an old bureau 
(chest of drawers) — a few books on it. 

Dark-blue or green roller shades to windows at rear — 
practical, to run up and down at cues. 

A wood seat folding camp chair by l. hand corner bu- 
reau, up R. 

A tall narrow blackboard, eraser, chalk stands on floor 
between windows up c. rear — about 7 feet tall and 
2 feet, 8 inches wide — in old imitation mahogany- 
case. On this inscription in chalk. 

At l. of this a small 14 inch square top stand on which 
sugar bowl with lump sugar, knives, forks and 
spoons for business. 

At l. of window l. up c. rear, another stand on which 
is a small portable Victrola or similar machine 
NOT used. 

Above bureau up r.c. against wall, a four by three foot 
engraving or map. 

Up l. against wall running from window to L. side 
wall, built bookshelves with fake books, Atlas, 
etc. Atop it are jar smoking tobacco, pipes, 
matches — over this a four by three foot engraving. 

Up l.c. before fireplace an old easy chair. 

R.c. in wall fireplace mantel with clock and dressing. 
Grate practical, floor fender, etc. 

A Windsor armchair below this at L.c. 

Down l. filling jut in scene an eight inch high platform 
with small table against wall (by fireplace) on 
which is a globe. A side Windsor chair below this 
table. 

Placed c. an ordinary kitchen deal table 2 feet, 8 inches 
by four feet, with red and white check cloth, on 
which are three high-class magazines — such as 
The English Review; match-stand and matches l. 



THE FOOL 145 

end table. On r. end a drop single light, electric 
bulb from gas chandelier hanging c. converted to 
electric. Green tin shade for this — practical. 

Chandelier hanging coiling over table c. practical with 
three or four electric lights burning has been con- 
verted to electricity. 

Two camp chairs, wooden seats, above this table 
c. one to its r. and an ordinary kitchen chair at its 
l. end — before the table a small narrow wooden 
bench of deal. 

Brown groundcloth down. 

Offstage and Handprops 



Down r. — Book for "Miss Levinson" to bring on. 
Supper service, cheap, on black tin tray, for 
"Grubby" to bring on — hot coffee served (get 
Thermos bottle for this). 

Coat for Gilchrist — an overcoat easily slipped 
into, also slouch hat for Gilchrist. 
Off up c. to l. a brick to throw through window up l.c. 
Practical pane glass in window up l.c lower middle 
pane. 

Act Four 

Down r. just in scene a stand-table with a litter of Mag- 
azines (old ones) atop it. 

r. against wall, fireplace, mantel with dressing, a 
pipe on it. 

Over mantel a fairly large picture of Christ as 
a youth in frame — not expensive. Several other 
smaller framed pictures on walls at suitable places, 
but all have been bought at a second-hand place. 

Practical grate, tongs, etc., and fender to mantel — re- 
peat from Act Three. 



146 THE FOOL 

A large old leather arm easy chair before fireplace, 
faced half front and r. — in this a magazine. 

A cheap desk with dressing and table lamp, practical, 
l. this easy chair, its ends up and down stage and 
angled a little toward c. at upper end; blotting 
pad, etc. 

To l. this desk a hair covered side chair, old. 

Up R. against wall above fireplace and extending along 
wall rear to window c, large built-in book shelves 
with fake books — atop it several vases, bric-a-brac. 

Up r. in corner an old chair. 

c. large window seat upholstered cheaply with a cheap 
cushion to either end. 

Brown draw heavy opaque curtains on pole at window 
c. practical with weighted draw cords at l. end. 

c. a small stand by r. corner window seat. 

c. to l. corner window seat, a side chair of cheap wood. 

Up r.c. against wall rear and extending to wall l., 
built-in bookshelves five feet high, similar to that 
to r., with books and bric-a-brac. 

l.c. down from this and giving clearance below it to 
the door down l., an old haircloth double arm sofa, 
its r. end upstage two feet above l. end — angled. 
On this a profusion of wrapped Christmas parcels. 
On its r. end and on its l. end DEFINITE 
wrapped parcels as called off by Mary Margaret 
in Act Four — the only practical props being : small 
white imitation ermine muff with neck-string and 
similar tippet — wrapped in tissue paper in square 
foot square box, wrapped in paper and tied. 

l. against wall, a small table with flower bowl. 

Off down l. in distance chimes tuned to play definite 
tune. Striker for this. 

Stick for Jerry — walking stick, crook-handle. 

Brown carpet of Act Three down. 



NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH 

Comedy in 3 acts. By James Montgomery. 5 males, 
6 females. Modern costumes. 2 interiors. Plays 2% hours. 

Is it possible to tell the absolute truth — even for twenty-four 
hours? It is — at least Bob Bennett, the hero of "Nothing but 
the Truth," accomplished the feat. The bet he made with his 
partners, his friends, and his fiancee — these are the incidents in 
William' Collier's tremendous comedy hit. "Nothing but the 
Truth" can be whole-heartedly recommended as one of tho most 
sprightly, amusing and popular comedies of which this country- 
can boast. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 

SEVENTEEN 

A comedy of youth, in 4 acts. By Booth Tarkington. 
8 males, 6 females. 1 exterior, 2 interior scenes. Costumes, 
modern. Plays 2% hours. 

It is the tragedy of William Sylvanus Baxter that he has ceased 

to be sixteen and is not yet eighteen. Baby, child, boy, youth 

3wn-up are definite phenomena. The world knows them and 

rned to put up with them. Seventeen is not an age, it is a 

. In its turbulent bosom the leavings of a boy are at war 

•with the beginnings of a man. 

tis heart, William Sylvanus Baxter knows all the tortures 

and <i lights of love; he is capable of any of the heroisms of his 

sex. But he is still sent on the most humiliating errands 

mother, and depends upon his father for the last nickel 

ui ^ending money. 

Silly Bill fell in love with Lolo, the Baby-Talk Lady, a vapid 
if amiable little flirt. To woo her in a manner worthy of himself 
(and incidentally of her) he stole his father's evening clothes. 
When his wooings became a nuisance to the neighborhood, his 
mother stole the clothes back, and had them altered to fit the 
middle-aged form of her husband, thereby keeping William at 
home in the evening. 

But when it came to the Baby-Talk Lady's good-bye dance, not 
to be present was unendurable. How William Sylvanus again 
got the dress suit, and how as he was wearing it at the party the 
negro servant, Genesis, disclosed the fact that the proud garment 
was in reality his father's, are some of the elements in this 
charming comedy of youth. 

"Seventeen" is a story of youth, love and summer time. It is 
a work of exquisite human sympathy and delicious humor. Pro- 
duced by Stuart Walker at the Booth Theatre, New York, it en- 
joyed a run of four years in New York and on the road. Strongly 
recommended for High School production. (Royalty, twenty-five 
dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 

SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City 
New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free on Request 



NOT SO LONG AGO 

Comedy in a Prologue, 3 acts, and Epilogue. By Arthur 
Eichman. 5 males, 7 females. 2 interiors, 1 exterior. 
Costumes, 1876. Plays a full evening. 

Arthur Richman has constructed his play around the Cinderella 
legend. The playwright has shown great wisdom in his choice 
of material, for he has cleverly crossed the Cinderella theme 
■with a strain of Romeo and Juliet. Mr. Richman places his 
young lovers in the picturesque New York of forty years ago. 
This time Cinderella is a seamstress in the home of a social 
climber, who may have been the first of her kind, though we 
doubt it. She is interested sentimentally in the son of this house. 
Her father, learning of her infatuation for the young man without 
learning also that it is imaginary on the young girl's part, starts 
out to discover his intentions. He is a poor inventor. The 
mother of the youth, ambitious chiefly for her children, shud- 
ders at the thought of marriage for her son with a sewing-girl. 
But the Prince contrives to put the slipper on the right foot, and 
the end is happiness. The play is quaint and agreeable and the 
three acts are rich in the charm of love and youth. (Royalty, 
twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 



THE LOTTERY MAN 

Comedy in 3 acts, by Kida Johnson Young. 4 n 
5 females. 3 easy interiors. Costumes, modern. 
2% hours. 

In "The Lottery Man" Rida Johnson Young has seized upon. 
a custom of some newspapers to increase their circulation by 
clever schemes. Mrs. Young has made the central figure in her 
famous comedy a newspaper reporter, Jack Wright. "Wright owes 
his employer money, and he agrees to turn in one of the most 
sensational scoops the paper has ever known. His idea is to 
conduct a lottery, with himself as the prize. The lottery is an- 
nounced. Thousands of old maids buy coupons. Meantime Wright 
■falls in love with a charming girl. Naturally he fears that he 
may be won by someone else and starts to get as many tickets 
as his limited means will permit. Finally the last day is an- 
nounced. The winning number is 1323, and is held by Lizzie, 
an old maid, in the household of the newspaper owner. Lizzie 
refuses to give up. It is discovered, however, that she has stolen, 
the ticket. With this clue, the reporter threatens her with arrest. 
Of course the coupon is surrendered and Wright gets the girl of 
his choice. Produced at the Bijou Theater, New York, with 
great success. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 

SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City 
New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free on Request 



7 RF3M. 



KICK IN 



Play in 4 acts. By Willard Mack. 7 males, 5 females. 
2 interiors. Modern costumes. Plays 2y 2 hours. 

"Kick In" is the latest of the very few available mystery 
plays. Like "Within the Law," "Seven Keys to Baldpate," 
"The Thirteenth Chair," and "In the Next Room," it is one 
of those thrillers which are accurately described as "not having 
a dull moment in it from beginning to end." It is a play with 
all the ingredients of popularity, not at all difficult to set or to 
Bet ; the plot carries it along, and the situations are built with 
that skill and knowledge of the theatre for which Willard Mack 
is known. An ideal mystery melodrama, for high schools and 
colleges. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 



TILLY OF BLOOMSBURY 

("Happy -Go-Lucky.") A comedy in 3 acts. By Ian 
Hay. 9 males, 7 females. 2 interior scenes. Modern 
dress. Plays a full evening. 

Into an aristocratic family comes Tilly, lovable and youthful, 

ith ideas and manners which greatly upset the circle. Tilly 

i so frankly honest that she makes no secret of her tre- 

aendous affection for the young son of the family; this brings her 

.nto many difficulties. But her troubles have a joyous end in 

charmingly blended scenes of sentiment and humor. This comedy 

presents an opportunity for fine acting, handsome stage settings, 

and beautiful costuming. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) 

Price, 75 Cents. 



BILLY 

Farce-comedy in 3 acts. By George Cameron. 10 males, 
5 females. (A few minor male parts can be doubled, mak- 
ing the cast 7 males, 5 females.) 1 exterior. Costumes, 
modern. Plays 2% hours. 

The action of the play takes place on the S. S. "Florida," 
bound for Havana. The story has to do with the disappearance of 
a set of false teeth, which creates endless complications among 
passengers and crew, and furnishes two and a quarter hours of 
the heartiest laughter. One of the funniest comedies produced in 
the last dozen years on the American stage is "Billy" (some- 
times called "Billy's Tombstones"), in which the late Sidney 
Brew achieved a hit in New York and later toured the country 
Beveral times. (Royalty, twenty-five dollars.) Price, 75 Cents. 

SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City 
New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Tree on Request) 



FRENCH'S 

Standard Library Edition 



George M. Cohan 
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Austin Strong 
A. A. Milne 
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Paul Green 
James Montgomery 
Arthur Rich man 
Philip Barry 
George Middleton 
Channlng Pollock 
George Kaufman 
Martin Plavin 
Victor Mapes 
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Rida Johnson Young 
Margaret Mayo 
Roi Cooper Megrue 
Jean Webster 
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Frederick S. Isham 
Fred Ballard 
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Willard Mack 
Jerome K. Jerome 
R. C. Carton 
William Gary Duncan 
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle 



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Catherine Chisholm Gushing J. C. and Elliott Nugent 
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